


White

by asparagusmama



Series: Seasons - AU season 5 [6]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Babyfic, Crime Plot, Drugs, M/M, Oxford Brookes University, Snow, The British obsessive inabiity to deal with even the slightest sprinkling of snow, babyklingon my daughter had a huge creative input, canon divergence at season 4, mostly created and written in 2010
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 87,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The snow, it falls. A baby is left on Lewis' doorstep. Mark returns to the UK to try some dodgy double dealing, which fails miserably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 3am, Wednesday morning, late November

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last story in the Blue Autumn Love series made up for my daughter last year. Not the last to be posted, as I'm posting out of sequence, as and when I actually feel like writing them.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

It was the middle of a late November night, cold and chilly, snow already lying outside the flat, thin and grey, frozen solid; a dirty ice rink on the paths. The sky was clear, Orion high in the sky over the partially lit Oxford City skyline. In Lewis’ flat, both he and his partner in many senses of the word, James Hathaway, were curled up asleep under a 15 tog duvet, huddled together that night not so much for love or sexual desire, but merely warmth; the heating in the whole unit having packed up earlier that day.

A sudden loud, insistent buzzing of the doorbell woke them both up. Robbie grabbed the alarm clock while James sleepily tumbled out of bed, gasping at the cold air. He grabbed his black fleece off the floor and pulled it on over his blue t-shirt and grey check pj bottoms. He headed for the front door, shivering. Robbie followed, doing up his bathrobe over blue pyjamas and the switching the light on. It was just past 3am. It couldn’t be work or Lyn, as both would have phoned.

James opened the flat door. A woman was running down the corridor and a baby car seat, a dirty, torn car seat containing a dark skinned baby, left on the doorstep. He yelled and leapt over the baby, running after the woman. She got in the lift just as he reached her, so he pounded down the stairs and out of the front door, bare feet slipping on the ice.

The woman had just got into a red car, driven by a man with a familiar face. Constantly repeating the licence plate aloud James, shivering, picked himself up off the pavement and returned into the flat.

In the flat, Robbie had brought the baby inside. It had woken, and was emitting a thin, distressed wail. Robbie began to speak, but James held up a hand to silence him, grabbing pen and paper and writing down the plate number before he forgot it. Once he’d written the number he turned to look at Robbie.

“We need to call social service,” Robbie said.

James shook his head. “You probably want to hold off for a while. I recognized the driver, the father presumably.”

“Recognized? Who?”

“From photos, mainly. From you, too.” James picked up a photo, one of many that still dotted the flat. This one was of Val and Mark, some family holiday the summer before she died. He held it up. “Older, thinner. Beard. Definitely him. Your son. And look at her.” James walked over to the baby, still crying a thin, pathetic wail, as if she knew screaming was no good, no-one would come. She stopped as soon as James picked her up, holding her gently but firmly to his chest. Robbie thought she looked surprised, and James was right, she had the look of Lyn as a baby, a dark skinned, Afro haired Lyn.

“Oh God,” moaned James. “She’s filthy.”

Indeed she was, her nappy was so full and heavy it was leaking everything, not just urine. Her clothes were filthy, dirty, stained. She smelt alarming. She was so tiny, but she was too alert and able to be anything less than eight months old.

James had had very little to do with babies, much less than Robbie Lewis, he supposed, but if Robbie was just going to keep standing there in the middle of the lounge looking a bit gormless with shock he knew he had to do something. Besides, Robbie was so much older and old fashioned, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he’d been a completely hands off father when his kids were small, leaving everything to Val.

James ran a tepid bath to a couple of centimetres deep and washed her quickly and then cut up a towel to make a makeshift nappy. He wrapped her up in another towel and his fleece. She continued to shiver so he stretched a purple sock on her head to make a makeshift hat. He told he she looked cute in his sock and showed her her reflection, but her eyes for the most part seemed unfocused and listless.

When he returned to the living room Robbie had made tea and heated some milk. He’d also plugged in the electric fan heater. James sat down on the sofa, cradling the baby, trying to get her to take the milk from a teaspoon. Robbie wouldn’t look at him, or rather look at the baby, his granddaughter. As soon as the baby was asleep again Robbie handed James a note.

‘Dad,

‘Nadia and I can’t cope right now. We will be in touch soon.

‘Her name is Molly and she is 9 months old.

‘Mark.’

“She’s very tiny for 9 months old.”

“She’s filthy and neglected, is what she bloody is!” Robbie hissed, wanting to shout. “You need to get that licence plate chased and on to social services. I thought he was still in Australia.”

James subconsciously, imperceptivity, tightened his hold on Molly. “Robbie, she’s your granddaughter as much as Lyn’s baby.”

“Your point being?”

“You hand her over now, you or Mark will probably never see her again. Give Mark and his girlfriend time.”

“Look at her! They’re not fit parents. I can’t believe it. We didn’t bring him up to behave like this. What’s got into Mark?”

The answer drugs, probably, flitted into James’ head, but he wisely kept silent.

Robbie forced himself to look at the baby, at Molly Lewis. She did have the look of Lyn and Mark as babies; he could see Val in her. There was something about the eyes that was probably a bit of him, too.

“Well, we need to put a discreet trace on the car, at least. Find them. But we do need to get social services, James. We’re police officers, man. We need to do this by the book. I’m her grandfather and Mark’s asked me to look after her, so they should give me temporary custody, if they think I could cope, which I doubt. I’m nearly bloody 60.”

“I’ll look after her,” James said fiercely. “I’ll take time of work, move in properly now and...”

“What? Let everyone at work in on our relationship? Bugger any chance of promotion?”

“I don’t care. She’s your granddaughter and she needs a home. You don’t really want her spending her childhood moving from foster home to foster home, do you?”

Robbie stared at James holding his granddaughter long and hard and sighed. “I think I’m seeing a whole side of you I didn’t know existed. Maybe you didn’t even know existed. I don’t even know how you seem to know what to do with her.”

“Instinct and common sense, mostly, I suppose. I’ll just ring in sick for now. You go to work and trace them. And Robbie?”

“Yes James?”

“Get dressed and go to Tescos. We need nappies, wipes, formula, bottles, a sterilizer, clothes, a cot, a buggy, a new car seat, a high chair, baby food...”

“Breathe James. Hold on a minute. I’ll get the milk and nappies and clothes, okay? The rest of the stuff can wait.”

“And toys,” James added quietly. “There’s not even one soft toy with her.”

*

Meanwhile, Mark and Nadia were driving towards Blackbird Leys, Mark swearing, Nadia laughing hysterically. When Mark’s phone rang, Black Eye Pea’s ‘Imma Be’ as its ring tone, Nadia’s laughing hiccoughed to a sob.

“Yeah. Yeah. We’re on our way mate.” Nearly ten years in Australia had mangled Mark’s Oxfordshire accent to a half-Australian twang.

“Yeah. But even at this time of night it takes forever ’round the M25, especially with ice on the road, lanes closed and mate, you go over 30 you’re gonna die.

“Yeah, but imagine the scene when we’re pulled out. What they gonna find in our car, eh? You want this gear or what?

“Bit lost, mate, tell the truth. Long time since I was here, and I didn’t drive then. I’m going past the Blackbird now,” Mark lied, driving past the Cowley Centre shopping centre. He hung up and tossed the phone to Nadia.

“Who was that bloke chasing you?”

“Dunno. He was in your dad’s flat.” Her accent was very strong; Nadia was half Aboriginal, half Greek, all Australian.

“You sure you got the right flat, you stupid bitch?”

“Don’t have a go at me, you bastard. Yeah. Yeah, it was. I recognized the old guy from your photos of your parents you got in your wallet. Wrinkled and grey, but same bloke, sure.”

“Dad told me it was a one bed flat.”

“So, perhaps your dad’s gone gay.”

“Don’t be sick, Nads.”

“I dunno. He was cute. Young. Blond. Leggy.”

“My dad is so not gay, you just shut the fuck up about it!”

*

Robbie Lewis was now also on the road, driving through slush up to Cowley Tescos. Despite James’ warnings, he phoned into control and got them to check the licence plate, only informing it was just a bit suspicious around his block of flats. He never mentioned the baby.

*

James Hathaway was now pacing the floor in front of the fan heater, cradling and rocking a screaming Molly Lewis, feeling panicked and wondering what the hell he’d insisted on taking on.

 

*

Mark Lewis climbed back in the car, which was parked outside a half empty 1960s shopping parade. He had the beginning of black eye.

“You alright?”

“Bastard didn’t believe that was the lot. We had words. You should see him.”

“Did you get the money?”  
“Yeah,” Mark flashed a wad of twenty pounds notes. Nadia began to laugh hysterically again.

As he drove Mark’s thoughts returned to the mysterious man who had chased Nadia. “Did it look like he’d been sleeping on the sofa?”

“How do you I know, Mark? I legged it as soon as I rang the bell. Look, mate, why worry?”

“Might be his DS. Might call the social in. We want Molly back, right?”

“If she stops crying. You don’t want Molls; don’t kid yourself. You yell at her and me all the bloody time, mate. Don’t you?”

“Pass me my phone. This is doing me head in.”

He tried to scroll down his contacts but the car skidded on the ice, slush and salt. “Oh, hell! You do it!” He tossed the phone back to Nadia. “Find Lyn, block the number before you call. Put it on speaker, and for God’s sake, don’t laugh!”

“Why?”

“I want to know who the guy is. It’s doing me head in. I can’t get it out of me head, my Dad and him. Ugh!”

Nadia did as she was told, wondering what Mark would do if Lyn told him his Dad was gay.

“Hello,” Lyn answered sleepily.

“Hi Lyn. It’s Mark.”

“Mark!” she squealed. “Long, long time no hear. Do you know the time over here? You sound Australian, did you know that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Sorry about the time, sis, I forgot. Look, a mate sent me this e-mail and it’s doing in my head in.”

“What?”

“He says Dad’s got a bloke living with him. Young. Blond. Tall. About our age, give or take.”

“That’s James Hathaway.”

“And?”

“Look, I think it’s up to Dad to tell you. I thought he did. I know he wants to invite you. I know he’d given up trying to call you and was going to e-mail you.”

“What for?”

“Well, it’s up to Dad to...”

“Invite me to what Lyn? Who is he?”

“James. He’s Dad’s DS. Or was, I think. Might still work for him, but I’d have thought it was against regulations but Dad’s retiring soon and maybe...”

“Lyn. Cut to the chase, will you? It’s costing a bomb. I never got any e-mails from Dad.”

“Sorry Mark, this might come as a shock. It did to me, but then I thought about it and thought anyone would be a shock, a woman his own age even, Laura Hobson even, and I did think... I really did struggle to get my head round it, you know? But actually, James is really, really nice and he seems to make Dad happy and...”

“Lyn! For fuck’s sake! What are you saying?”

“He’s Dad’s boyfriend. They’re having a Civil Partnership ceremony in three months. When Dad retires. He wanted to invite you.”

“No way! I’m not going. You can tell him that. It’s sick!”

“Mark!”

Mark hung up.

*

By five o’clock James was getting panicky. He’d moved the fan heater to the bedroom so he could lie back, if not sleep, but still he had to cradle Molly. She’d gone through four makeshift nappies, and if she’d soiled this one he would have to start cutting up another towel. He’d given her boiled milk and sugared water from a teaspoon and from a cup, which she’d dribbled all over herself. He’d give her a piece of bread to chew on in case she was hungry and slices of cucumber to suck, in case she was teething, but she’d thrown up the bread and dribbled over the cucumber. She didn’t scream like most babies he’d heard, although he hadn’t really been paying attention. Molly kind of moaned, a heart wrenching, pitiful, non-stop moan. He didn’t think she was well.

At half past five Molly had finally cried herself into a fitful, exhausted sleep. James, exhausted himself, switched off the fan heater and pulled the quilt over the two of them. He knew he should phone Robbie, who had been gone over two hours now and there was ice and snow on the roads and somewhere, beneath his panic about and worry for Molly and his exhaustion, he was frightened Robbie had skidded on the icy roads and had crashed. However, exhaustion won and he fell asleep.

Robbie returned half an hour later, at the same time as the maintenance engineer. It looked like they were getting their heating back. Thank heaven for small mercies. He shook James awake.

“Wha-what? Oh. It’s you Sir.”

“Don’t call me Sir, sleepy head. Not the time or the place.”

James sat up, flushed. He checked Molly was fine, that she hadn’t been squashed or suffocated by the quilt.

“She’s fine,” Robbie said, looking at his granddaughter a lot more fondly than he had before he’d left.

“I think she’d sick.”

“Yeah. Well. We’ll have to sort all that out soon. We’ve got to notify social services, register her at my doctor’s, that sort of thing. And get you some proper leave sorted out.”

“Eh? What?” James distracted himself by picking up a Tesco carrier bag. Nappies. Good. Wipes. Nappy sacks. Sudocream. He grabbed another bag but Robbie stopped him.

“We have to talk things through.”

“Yes,” sighed James.

“She’s my granddaughter and my son has dumped her on me like an unwanted toy and it looks as if he and his girlfriend have been neglecting her. I’m struggling to get my head round this, James.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?”

“You’re right. I don’t want her in care. She’s my flesh and blood.”

James nodded.

“But, look at her. Social workers are not going to let Mark have her back.”

“Under supervision, with a social worker, probably. You and I have both seen babies, children, families in worse situations.”

“Yeah. But not my son. I let him down when Val died. Maybe before. Maybe I was too busy with work, never there for him.”

“Don’t blame yourself Robbie, please. You couldn’t have done better than you did. Look at Lyn. She’d great.”

“I’m nearly 60. A bloke on my own. Do you think social services will let me have her, honestly?”

“You’re not on your own. You have me. I’m 32, that’s about average to become a parent these days, isn’t it?”

“But what do you know, James?”

“No more than any new parent, I suppose. Or step-granddad, I suppose, but that just messes with my mind.”

Robbie laughed wryly. “I’m going to trace Mark as soon as I reasonably get to work. The car is a hire car, registered to Mark Lewis of this address. I’ll get an all points bulletin out to uniform as soon as I get to my office. And I’ll do a no names inquiry to social service from the office about the situation. Then I’ll inform Innocent, off the record.”

“Why?”

“So she can research regulations and equality legislation. Because if you are really serious about this, pet. If you’re really, really serious about looking after my granddaughter for me, you need to have adoptive parental leave. I can’t cope with her, and that’s a fact.”

James stared long and hard at Robbie. “You mean I need maternity not paternity leave, don’t you? A whole year out?”

“If you’re serious. Are you? Because if you’re not, you better get out. She’d my granddaughter, and she’d not going into care.”

James blinked hard, fighting tears. “Don’t do this.”

“You seemed serious earlier. Were you?”

James looked from Robbie to Molly and back again. “I don’t know. I love you, and she’d part of you, she has your eyes. I hate the thought of her going into care. But I had thought the plan was to look after her until your son and his girlfriend can have her back.”

“That might be years, or never. I doubt you’ve ever considered the possibility of children, James, but if Mark seriously can’t cope than I want my granddaughter full time, properly. I want to adopt her.”

James glared angrily at Robbie, at his boyfriend. Sometimes he hated how thorough his boss could be. Mostly he respected and admired it, but on this occasion, he hated it, hated what he was being manipulated into.

“You’ve already had a no names consultation with the duty social worker, haven’t you?”

“Yes, and a named one. There’s a case conference at four o’clock this afternoon. That gives me just under ten hours to find Mark and this Nadia.”

“You presumed a lot,” James hissed, losing his temper but trying to keep his cool, not to wake Molly.

“I presume nothing James, I’m just hoping, okay?” Robbie snapped back, equally quietly. “I just don’t like doing things underhand. I’ve been a policeman all my life and I retire in three months. I’ve always done things by the book.”

James snorted and swallowed a laugh.

Robbie glared at him. “I have never, ever stepped over the line James, and you know that.”

James sighed. “Fine. Okay. But Robbie, at best you’re asking me to take a year out of my career, and at worse, quit it.”

“You should get a year’s paid leave, if I understand the 2008 Act correctly.”

“But a whole year? I’m supposed to being going on my Inspectors course in four months, after our honeymoon. That won’t happen when I return, sure I should return to DS level, but you know and I know that in practice...”

“James, you were going to leave when I retired a few months ago. I’m the one who persuaded you to stay, to aim for Inspector. Stop being contrary.”


	2. 10am, Wednesday morning

Lewis pulled up in a side road behind the seedy looking B&B on the Abingdon Road. PC Baynes was waiting for him. Not a nice, tourist’s Bed and Breakfast, but one of the ones used by the City Council, one with more than 70% homeless families and vulnerable young people. The sounds of several different too loud choices of music could be heard on the street.

“They’ve checked in here Sir. I didn’t knock on their room, sir. A Mr. And Mrs. Lewis,” he couldn’t keep the curiosity out of his voice.

“Good. And yes Constable, he is my son.”

“Er...?”

“I do have a genuine reason constable. In fact, I’d like you to accompany me.”

“Sir?”

*

Nadia Lewis was semi conscious on the bed in a scruffy old shift dress in grey and pink with a thick grey cardigan. Mark was sitting at the table in his boxers and a tee shirt, chasing the dragon. An unlit spliff was also in his hand. The knock at the door startled him, a loud, insistent knock.

“Shit shit shit! Nadia, wake up!”

“Wh-what?”

“Help me hide the gear, girl! Quick!”

“Oh yeah, yeah.” She staggered up off the bed.

“Open up, it’s the police,” a young man called through the door.

“Oh shit!” Nadia woke up fully.

“Hold on a minute, we’re not decent,” Mark called, stepping into jeans as Nadia hid the spliff, tin foil, matches and packets of smack in an empty Tampax box and put it in the suit case, pulling her underwear over the top. Dressed, Mark started squirting deodorant around while Nadia opened the window. She shivered.

“Jeez, why did we have to come to England in the winter?”

“I don’t remember it being this cold,” Mark came back at her as he opened the door. “Yes constable, how can I help?” he smiled at Baynes in what he thought was a helpful, polite smile. He actually looked out of his tree. The smile vanished and he stepped back in the room as his father appeared from behind the young uniformed officer.

“Shit, Dad, you gonna arrest me?”

“Give me one good reason why not?” Lewis followed Mark in the room. “Wait here Baynes.” He closed the door behind him.

“Hi Mr. Lewis,” Nadia said, smiling a wide, slightly mad smile. “We’ve not met but I’m your daughter-in-law. How’s Molls?”

“Molly is being well looked after, for a change I think. Married?” He looked at Mark. “Married? And when were you going to tell me?”

“Yeah. That’s right Dad. Married. To a girl. Like any normal person does.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” All the time they were speaking Lewis was prowling the room, sniffing. He found the hidden Tampax box easily and looked inside. “Shall I arrest you? A warning? Or just confiscate this lot, eh? Drugs, Mark. What’s got into you, eh? And as for your baby? She’s neglected! And I can bloody see why!” Lewis wasn’t normally the kind of parent to shout, he’d normally been the calm one. Val was the one who could lose it. Thank God Val wasn’t here to see what had become of their son.

“Where’s Moll?” Nadia interrupted, screaming. “You’ve not put her in care, have you? Mark said you’d look after her, not come and arrest us. So what’s gonna happen to my baby?”

“She’s fine,” Lewis span around to look at his daughter-in-law. “She’s fine,” he repeated. “She’s at home, my home. Where you left her. James is looking after her.”

“James!” spat out Mark. “Who’s James?”

“James is my...” Lewis faded out. “He was my...”

“He’s your bloody boyfriend, that’s what!” Mark screamed at his father. “It’s sick! How long have you been a pervert, dad? Did you love Mam at all?!”

“What’s got into you Mark?!” Lewis finally lost his temper and shouted back at the top of his voice. “We didn’t bring you up to be so bloody ignorant and bigoted. Of course I loved your Mam, of course I did.”

Just then the door crashed open and PC Baynes came in. “Sir, calm down, please,” he said, stepping between Lewis and his son. “Can we all calm down here,” he looked at Mark and Nadia. “Why don’t you make some tea for us all Mrs. Lewis, yeah?”

“Whatever,” Nadia said and switched on the kettle.

“Sorry,” Lewis said, shame faced. “Sorry Baynes. Thank you. Sorry for shouting Mark, but you make me bloody sick and ashamed. Drugs. Homophobia. Abandoning your daughter after neglecting her.”

*

Meanwhile, James Hathaway was in Robbie Lewis’ doctor’s waiting room, pacing backwards and forwards with Molly, who was emitting her high-pitched pathetic moan again.

Fifteen minutes later he sat, stunned, with Molly now asleep in his arms, staring at Lewis’ doctor, an old fashioned GP in a tweed jacket and half moon glasses.

“You sure?”

“Well, not a hundred percent Mr. Hathaway. I’d need a urine test for that. I’ll give you a sample bag for a nappy.”

“Couldn’t it just be she was born addicted, and...?”

“No doubt she was, but she would have recovered by now. I should imagine they’ve wanted to keep her quiet. I haven’t come across this, but I’ve seen plenty of examples of alcohol and cannabis in a baby’s milk bottle. You’re a policeman, surely you can’t be so shocked.”

“Does that mean I have to lose my ability to be shocked? To be saddened? Besides, this is his son. I’m going to have to tell him and I don’t know quite...”

“Well, you’d better. Unless you’d like me too. I’m going to have to send my medical report to the assessing social worker and read it at this afternoon’s meeting.”

“No. You’re fine. I will.”

“And how are you doing, Mr. Hathaway? Not exactly what you imagined, I expect.”

“No. Of course not. But I’m fine. Tired. Worried for Molly.”

“And your life? Your career? You’re prepared to put them on hold?”

“I don’t see as if I have a choice, doctor.”

“Of course you have a choice.”

“Not one that involves Robbie losing Molly, and I think that would involve me losing Robbie, and...” James broke off and started again. “Look, people become parents all the time without plans, without expecting it. This is not any different, really, I suppose. Is it?”

“Well, one has eight or nine months to plan, usually, but I take your point. Are you seriously, really prepared to take time out of your career to be a full time care giver to your partner’s granddaughter?”

“Yes.” James sighed and looked down at Molly. “More so now you’ve told me what they’ve been doing to her. She can’t go back to her parents, can she?”

“Not at the moment, no, I doubt it.”

*

“I can’t do it! I can’t!” Nadia began to cry.

“Look Nads, this maybe for the best. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, got jobs, a home and...”

“I can’t go to the meeting, I mean...”

Lewis’ phone rang and he walked out of the room, leaving his son and daughter-in-law to discuss the four o’clock meeting.

“Lewis.

“Oh, it’s you pet. How’s Molly?

“Uhu.

“Bloody hell. Damn that boy to hell! I can’t believe he’s...

“No. I’m calm.

“Really. I am. Bye love.”

*

James put his phone down, trying not to be hurt by the abrupt way Robbie had hung up. Fine, if it was work, but this wasn’t. After all James had agreed to do, to give up, for him.

“Your Granddad is very angry with your Daddy,” James told Molly, trying to hold her one handed, balanced on a very non-existent hip while he made himself a cup of coffee. He looked for something healthy to eat, gave up and grabbed a packet of biscuits. With coffee and biscuits on the table, with Molly next to him on the sofa, he switched on the TV and found Cbeebies for Molly. She stared, uncomprehending at the bright moving images. James almost fell asleep but was awoken by his phone bleeping. A text from Lewis:

‘Sorry. Love you. Left credit card on kitchen table. Take taxi and buy all she needs x.’

He drank the coffee and called a taxi. “Let’s go shopping Molly.”

Molly looked at him for the first time with something other than a listless stare. She grinned.

*

As soon as Lewis returned to his office he was summoned to Innocent’s.

“I was coming to see you anyway ma’am.”

“When, exactly? What is going on? Tracing cars hired to your son, using uniform to find him... then there’s the phone call I’ve just received from social services wanting to know about fast tracking CRBs and character references and God knows what else.”

“As I’ve said, ma’am, I was coming to explain. I needed to find Mark to know exactly what I was explaining.”

“Tell me,” Innocent sat down, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. Lewis sat too.

“Briefly, ma’am. We woke up this morning, 3am, to a baby abandoned on my door step.”

“We?”

“James Hathaway and me.”

“Of course, stupid me.”

“Molly, my granddaughter. I didn’t know I had one, didn’t know he was married, didn’t know he was in England.”

“Well, he wasn’t was he? That car was hired at Heathrow. And on drugs, I take it you didn’t know about that? Baynes has given both of then a caution for possession. I understand you only found a small amount for personal use?”

Lewis sighed. “Yes ma’am. They’ve asked me to look after her, but normally social services wouldn’t let a man alone adopt or foster, or let someone my age. Because she’s my granddaughter and my son wants me to have her it’s possible, that’s what this meeting this afternoon’s about.”

“And James? Where does James fit in to all this? The requests for information were for both of you.”

“James and me, well you do know about James and me ma’am?”

“Yes, unofficially, I’m turning a blind eye, remember?”

“Thank you ma’am. But now you need to be aware officially, ma’am. We’re having a civil partnership in three months. James is now moving in, today. He’s currently taken a day’s sick, and he has leave owing...”

“Which is supposed to be for your honeymoon, after you retire. I do know this Robbie.”

“Ma’am. He’s my partner, and he’s, well... I can’t cope with a baby ma’am. I’m too old, and probably too old fashioned, but James? James is young, and you should see him with her...”

“But what exactly are you asking?”

“I think adoptive parents are entitled to the same leave as natural parents. I think gay parents are entitled to the same rights as straight. There’s masses of new legislation under the last government, isn’t there?”

“Yes. What are you asking for me to check?”

“James needs full leave. Not paternity leave. A year’s leave, with his job guaranteed, at the same rank.”

“James is going on the Inspector’s course in four months. He’s filling your vacancy. I can’t keep a DI position open for him, can I? Does he agree to this? It seems a lot to ask him.”

“Would you say that if he were my girlfriend? If he were pregnant?”

“Lewis, this is getting bizarre. Of course not, but...”

“If gay couples have an equal right to adopt and adoptive parents have an equal right to full maternity leave ma’am...”

“Yes, I will get on the HR and check our policy, of course I will. But on two conditions.”

“What?”

“One, I attend this meeting. It could get messy. Two, I need to talk to James. I need to know you’re not coercing him into this.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To stop your granddaughter going into care. What about James’ self respect, agreeing to take maternity leave, like he’s...”

“Like he’s what ma’am?”

“Frankly Robbie, like your wife.”

“And that would bother him would it? He’s wearing a diamond engagement ring. He’s changing his name to Lewis at the ceremony. His choice. Not mine. He offered to look after her. He’s hardly put her down since we found her.” Lewis yawned and rubbed his eye. “Well, that might be coz she screams if he does. She’s sick, ma’am. They’ve been drugging her. She’s nine months old suffering cold turkey.”

Innocent stared, horrified, removing her earrings one by one. After a while, she spoke. “I’ll get in touch with HR and clarify your position, and I’ll be at the meeting to make sure they don’t cross the line. The social worker I spoke to, she’s digging on James, and he has a past that could be twisted to get her homophobic way.”

“Homophobic?”

“Reading between the lines. I detected that she wants to take the baby into temporary foster care from 4pm. If that happens, the chances are you won’t get her back.”

“I’m family.”

“I know Robbie, I know. I’m on your side on this.”

*

Several young, female assistants at Mothercare World, Cowley, assisted James. He mused that Robbie was very, very lucky he was not bi, as he’d never had so much female attention in his life. So far he had a car seat, high chair, cot and mattress, playpen and buggy, all arranged for home delivery that evening. He had his trolley full of board books, soft material books; expensive, big beautiful books that were anthologies of fairy tales and Beatrice Potter; toys upon toys: shape sorters, stacking cups, teething rings, rag dolls, teddy bears, a small panda, bath toys, primo and duplo lego; from ELC at Mothercare he’d picked up CDs called things like Baby Bach and Baby Beethoven and Mini Classics. He was currently at the clothes, and the number of cute dresses and matching tights and cardigans were piling up, along with a bright fuscia pink flowered coat, hats, mittens, pyjamas, and so on. Robbie had bought three vests, three sleep suits and one set of leggings and top the previous night. James was currently looking at a blue flowered pinafore with white under top when one of the twittering assistants finally spoke.

“You’re shopping like you have nothing.”

“No, we don’t. She arrived at 3am this morning.”

“I’m so sorry, was she with your ex? Did something...? I’m sorry.”

“No. She’s not mine. She’s my partner’s granddaughter.”

“Oh. But did the baby’s parents...?”

James stared at her, puzzled. Then it dawned on him. “Oh no, they’re not dead, merely inadequate.”

“Your partner, she must be a lot older than you?” another assistant asked bluntly.

“He is,” James said flatly, watching the three women’s faces. One looked a bit confused, the silent one, the others looked unfazed.

“No wonder you’re a such a shopaholic!” the first woman said. James grinned at her. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Yes, a baby sling. I was looking at them, but they all seem to be built with women in mind.”

“Well, you can get back carriers for toddlers, dads have those. Eco, hippie dads.”

“Molly’s too small. She screams if I put her down and my arms are aching fit to... Never mind, I thought a sling rather than the buggy until she’s well, until she feels secure.”

“Come this way. We’ll have a look. If you want a sling to wear in the house coz she won’t be put down, a ring sling or a wrap would be best.” She stared appraisingly at him. “A ring sling, definitely, a wrap probably needs more hips really, no offence.”

“None taken.”

“She seems quiet now.”

“She fell asleep in the taxi. I have a very nice taxi driver, he’s waiting for us. He sang her Punjabi lullabies on the way here.”

Indeed, the taxi driver who had turned up at Lewis’ flat had been so happy to see him well, had recognized him straight away. James had been embarrassed not to know who he was, then more embarrassed when the driver had explained he’d picked him up on Marsden Ferry Road the previous May and had taken him to this flat. And no, he wasn’t offended, he was certain the bastard had drugged James, after all, he was a strapping lad and a policeman to boot, no-one was going to find it easy to rape him without help. Despite his Muslim faith, the taxi driver had seemed genuinely pleased James had a boyfriend, had admired Molly, admired the ring, told him Molly was a gift from God, told him if he couldn’t be a priest or a good Catholic husband God was telling him it was okay to be a good wife and mother. James was very sceptical and many theological arguments had immediately sprung to mind, but he accepted the gesture of good will in the spirit it was intended and kept silent. Besides, the driver was good with Molly and offered to take James wherever he needed, which was shopping for Molly and then to his own flat to pack.

Amir had just loaded the last box and placed James’ guitar on top when James got a call.

“James, where are you man? You’re not at the flat. The bloody assessing social worker’s there waiting for you. We need them on our side.”

“I’m at my flat. Packing. You said...”

“God, James, we have all the time in the world...”

“I have a toothbrush, night clothes and work clothes at yours, I’m in yesterdays clothes, which frankly stink of baby sick and shit. I need some bloody clothes. And my guitar. And my Bible. If nothing else.”

“Sorry James. But this is...”

“We’re on our way.”

*

 

Amir carried bags and boxes up the stairs while James apologized profusely to the two social worker, settled the mercifully sleeping Molly in the middle if their bed and made coffee. All the while he felt the social workers observing him with disapproval.

Amir refused coffee and left, having finally unfinished unpacking his taxi, writing his address and number on the pad on the kitchen table and insisting James and Robbie come for a meal as soon as possible and he and his wife got an invite to the wedding.

The two women, Susan Seinfold and Nicola Gibbon – call us Sue and Nikki – sat on the sofa with the same tight-lipped smiles, clutching their coffee mugs, staring at James as if he were a particularly fascinating bug that had crawled out of a rock.

“So...?” he began awkwardly. “I can’t apologize enough. Robbie didn’t tell me what time to expect you and Molly needed one or two things,” as he spoke he indicated all the boxes and bags from Mothercare World, “as did I,” he said, waving a hand in the direction of his suitcase, suit carrier, travel bag, guitar and three boxes of books, CDs and records.

“So much, James?” asked Sue, a woman with steel grey hair and glasses, badly dressed and fast approaching sixty.

“Well, I did get a bit carried away. But you must agree, Molly needed a cot and a new car seat...”

“I see no cot,” interrupted Sue.

“The larger items are being delivered between six and seven this evening.”

“Items James?”

“High chair, cot and buggy.”

“Fine. Okay. Go on. You were saying you needed a new car seat. I understand she was abandoned on Robert’s door in her car seat.”

“It was filthy! So was she. They’d not changed her for hours, days even!” James snapped hotly, his nose wrinkling at the memory. “She needs lots of clothes because she still keeping vomiting and is having a dreadful upset stomach.” Just then Molly woke up, emitting her thin wail. “Excuse me,” James got up and rushed off to the bedroom, glad to get away from those laser beams of disapproval that were the social workers’ eyes.

“Do you mind if I...?” began Nikki, getting up to follow him down the corridor. She had permed grey curls on a much too young face, a much more sympathetic expression on her face than her colleague wore. She watched James from the bedroom door with clinical detachment as he changed her nappy, wiped her face and put her in clean clothes, all the while chatting nonsense to her.

“You seem very competent,” Nikki commented.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice, she’s had an upset stomach, I believe I said? It’s because of what they were doing to her!” James’ voice shook with the thought of drugging a baby. He pulled himself together and smiled at Molly, “It’s settling now, isn’t it darling?” he said, lifting her up and grinning at her in a silly way before rubbing noises. She grabbed at his hair and said a noise that could have been a ‘Juh’ or a ‘Jay’.

“Shall we go back into the living room?”

James sat on the dining chair, placed opposite the sofa, holding Molly while she chewed a new teething ring and waved a rag doll with rattling legs. He patiently answered endless questions about the flat, the sleeping arrangements, his career and whether he was serious in dropping it for a year, and the GP report. Then he was asked some very personal, shocking questions out of the blue. He was asked directly about his feelings for Robbie Lewis. James stared, not trusting himself to speak.

“We’re getting married. I think that speaks for itself,” he replied carefully.

“Marriages do fail. So do civil partnerships,” Sue said, a fake smile fixed on her face, her voice dripping in faux sympathetic understanding.

“You’re almost half his age,” added Nikki.

“Yes, but...” James took a deep breath, “I love him. Have for years. Always will, I should think.”

“How many other men have you felt that about?” Sue asked bluntly.

“None. He’s my first boyfriend. And last, I hope.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” said Sue, the same fake voice designed to encourage confidences. “Unless you’ve only gone in for one night stands?”

James struggled to keep his temper. It was a losing battle. “How are you judge me! If you must know, Robbie was my first anything – the first! Do you understand what I’m saying? And I love him, and I love his granddaughter, and I won’t leave them. Molly needs stability and we can give that until Robbie’s son and daughter-in-law can cope with Molly. What else do you want to know? Yes, the cot in our bedroom isn’t ideal, but we were already looking for a house for when Robbie retires. I know Robbie is almost sixty, but I’m doing all the hands on care for Molly. What else do you want?” James glared at them, angry with himself as much as them for provoking him into saying far more than he ever would in normal circumstances.

“Whether you’ll make a stable foster parent James,” replied Sue.

“We understand that you’ve been on Seroxat for a couple of years?” Nikki went on.

“Yes, but...”

“And that you were raped, just over half an year ago?”

“What’s that got to do...?”

“And that you were sexually abused as a child.”

“How’s that...?”

“And you had psychotherapy at university?”

“Over ten years ago. And that was for the abuse. Surely that makes me stronger?” James managed to spit out in a rush, voice a much higher pitch that he would have liked.

“We’re just letting you know James, we have questions concerning your competence and Molly’s safety and well-being. These will be addressed at the Emergency Core Planning Meeting. Is it alright is Nikki and I look around the flat and at your shopping for Molly?”

“Er, yeah, of course,” James stumbled in reply, stunned. How did they know so much about him? He would need a warrant and days of waiting to unearth so much information about a suspect.

*

 

Robbie came home at just after twenty past three. “Aren’t you ready yet?” he snapped, exhausted and apprehensive about the meeting.

“What do you think?” James snapped back, pacing back and forth with a screaming Molly over one shoulder, sick down his back.

“Are you going to change?” Robbie asked, softening his voice as he realised how stressed out James was.

“Give me a chance, why don’t you?”

“Here, let me.” Robbie reached out for Molly. “Come to your Grandpa, eh?” He cradled Molly who stared at him with bewildered blue eyes, startlingly blue in her dark face. He stared back. She stopped crying.

“How did you do that?” James demanded, amazed. Molly had been screaming non-stop since the social workers had left.

“Dunno. Maybe she was picking up on your stress? Have a shower, a quick one mind. Get yourself prettied up.”

James scowled. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Talk to me if I’m a woman. I’m doing enough for you without that!”

“James, I didn’t know I was. You’re always lovely to me, even covered in puke, and for Chrissakes, you wear more make-up than Val ever did!”

“Oh!” James stormed off to the bathroom.

Half an hour later he came out in a suit and tie, hair smoothed down and styled neatly, minimal skin make-up, enough to hide the huge bags, blotchy skin and scar on his chin and the palest of lip-glosses. Robbie had cleaned up Molly and put her in a red dress and blue tights and matching cardigan and her put her in her new coat and car seat. She looked sweet in her pink beanie and mittens. She grinned up at James as if in approval.

“You look nice pet,” Robbie said, and then looked worried, as if he’d said the wrong thing. “But then, you always do. Come on, we’ll be late,” he said, picking up the car seat and the changing bag stuffed full of nappies and spare tights. Sighing, James grabbed his coat and his cigarettes and followed.


	3. Four o'clock meeting

Both men rushed along the level two corridor at the JRII, James carrying the car seat, ten minutes late and unable to find the right door for Health and Social Care Directorate, which was where this Emergency Core Assessment and Planning meeting was. However, with the snow, they were not the only ones to be late. They were shown into a room with a huge table. Mark sat at the far corner, refusing to look at his father or Molly. Molly immediately began to grizzle so James took her out and paced about with her in his arms. Robbie sat down in a chair close to the door. Four social workers had already arrived, as had his GP, who smiled and said hello. Innocent arrived soon after them and sat next to Robbie, leaving a space for James. James’ GP was next, arriving with another professional woman both men didn’t recognize. They exchanged worried glances. This was big. See what doing things by the books gets you, James tried to communicate.

“Right,” said a woman they didn’t know, a big woman with badly dyed blond hair. “We’re all here who’s going to get here I think. Shall we begin?”

James came to sit between Lewis and Innocent, sitting Molly on his lap. She began to thump the table quite happily. Lewis produced his car keys and she snatched them and rattled them as she banged, oblivious to all the adults concerned with her future.

Professionals started taking out folders, and paper and pens and shut up their laptops. Mark turned his gaze from the wall to the person who spoke. Innocent whispered that she would take notes.

“Okay, let’s begin. To get things started let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves and what role we have. I’m Sandra Chalk, senior Social Worker for the Family and Child Team here in Oxford. I’ll be chairing this meeting.”

“Susan Seinfold, Senior assessment social worker,” she scowled as she saw the woman next to James Hathaway whisper something to him.

“I’m Nicola Gibbon, student social worker assisting Susan.”

“Nicola Wing, I’ll be Molly’s named social worker, following this meeting. I won’t be contributing, I’m just here to listen and learn,” she smiled a sweet smile. James liked the smile. She was younger that the other three, and had brushed and styled her ginger hair, wearing fashionable clothes. Hopefully she’ll have Molly’s best interests at heart, which was staying with the family, obviously.

“Hello. Dr. Peter McKay, Mr. Lewis’s family doctor. I saw little Molly this morning. I’ve known the Lewis family since Ken here and his sister were babies smaller than Molly.” He smiled across the table reassuringly at Robbie Lewis.

In the corner a dirty head snapped up, face hardening after it’s contemplation of the Formica table surface. “I’m Mark.” He glared at the doctor on his left. “Kenneth Mark Lewis. I’m Molly’s dad.”

“Where’s the mother?” asked Sandra Chalk.

“Nadia couldn’t be here. She couldn’t bear to see Molly. She knows we can’t look after her but she loves her too much. We want her with my Dad. That’s want we want.”

“That’s fine, Mark. There will be an opportunity for you to speak later.”

The unknown woman on the top of the table, on Mark’s right, spoke. “I’m Dr. Henrietta Sayer, consultant paediatrician here at the JR with a specialized interest in addiction. I treat all babies born dependant on heroin in the county.”

The woman opposite Mark flashed a smile down the table to James, “Hi. I’m Dr. Caitlin O’Brien, Mr. Hathaway’s GP. Susan Seinfold asked me to attend.”

“I’m Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent, boss and friend to DI Lewis and DS Hathaway. I’ve asked to be here to ensure that their characters are supported, considering I was asked for confidential information this morning. I will be able to fast track any required CRBs depending on the outcome of this meeting. I’m also interested in this kind of test case concerning the new 2008 Equality Act.” Innocent gave Seinfold and Gibbon a hard stare.

“I’m James Hathaway, the grandfather’s boyfriend and soon to be civil partner, and,” he glanced at Innocent who smiled encouragingly, “The main carer for the past thirteen hours and plan to be the main care giver.”

“I’m DI Robert Lewis, Molly’s grandfather and Mark’s father. Mark and his wife have asked me to care for their daughter.”

“Thank you Robert, there will be –” began Chalk before there was a flurry of activity as a secretary knocked and entered without waiting for permission followed by a woman carrying another baby car seat, this time containing a much smaller, younger baby. She had bleached hair pulled up in a scruffy bun, a fisherman’s’ jumper and scarf over a blue nurse’s uniform.

“Ms. Lewis, Sandra.”

“Sorry. Sorry everybody. I nearly didn’t make it. They’re closing the M6 and the top end of the M40 right now. Snow is bad.” She came in, pulling off scarf and jumper and sat down next to her Dad, pulling blanket and hat and mittens from the baby. She leaned over and kissed her father, then stretched out over her Dad and grabbed James’ hand and squeezed. “Dad. James.”

“We’ve just done the introductions, Lyn, so you must pick it up as you go along. Would you like to introduce yourself?”

“I’m Lyn Lewis, I’m Molly’s auntie. Hi Mark.” She waved across the table. Her brother scowled.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s begin,” Chalk said, turning to Seinfold and Gibbon.

Seinfold summarized the facts: parents both addicts, recognized they could not cope had come back to England to ask for family support. There were so many concerns for the baby’s safety that certainly the parents would not be allowed their daughter back into their care. The grandfather wanted to care for and in fact adopt his granddaughter. The parents had given permission. There were, however, factors against allowing such an adoption. The age was a barrier to legal adoption.

“Exceptions have been granted in many cases for grandparents,” Innocent interrupted.

This was a man alone, nearing sixty, with a responsible, full time job that took him away from the home at all hours.

“But I’m not alone,” Robbie interrupted.

He had a male partner, some twenty-eight years his junior with no experience of childcare, although he had proved more than adequate in the past few hours. However, that was different from full time.

“What first time parent has any experience until the baby arrives?” James demanded angrily.

Seinfold ignored him and went on with her summary. There were also questions over whether he was suitable as an adoptive parent or foster parent at all. There were also the questions of stability, with the age gap and the ‘fact’ that gay partnerships were far more unstable.

“You can’t say that,” Innocent said coldly. “It’s prejudiced claptrap. You have no proof of that statement.”

“Thank you Jean, we must remember not to stray into opinion and stick to the facts. We will be examining factual reasons for James’ unsuitability later on. Susan?”

The living arrangements were of some concern, a one bedroom flat with the cot to be put up in the bedroom next to the double bed shared by two men.

“Again, prejudice. Plenty of parents have the cot in their room. My husband and I did ourselves for the first year of our son’s life.”

“We are also looking for a house to buy together,” Robbie pointed out.

“And were before Molly arrived,” added James.

“Which gives us a head start on finding somewhere quickly,” continued Robbie.

“Somewhere with a good school catchment area,” James said thoughtfully, more just to Robbie.

“We will discuss the report once Susan has reached her conclusions and we have heard the other reports. There is a lot to get through.” Chalk said firmly. “Susan?”

Seinfold recommended that Molly be taken into emergency foster care with Robbie being allowed to visit for one week pending further investigations into his and James Hathaway’s suitability.

Dr. McKay and Dr. Sayer gave their reports on Molly’s addiction to heroin and her current health due to her withdrawal, a second withdrawal, her first would have been in the first month of her life. McKay talked about the immediate physical health problems and stressed how admirably James had coped with them. Sayer talked about more long term possible problems, including possible behavioural difficulties, learning problems and developmental issues. Seinfold questioned again whether Lewis and Hathaway could provide the right environment for such a potentially challenging child. Innocent and Lewis both pointed out that James, from both experience as a policeman, training at the seminary and disposition could quite adequately care for a child who may develop symptoms akin to ADHD. This led on to Gibbon’s summarising of her and Seinfold’s second assessment: James Hathaway.

Her description did not meet the reality of the person anyone around the table who knew him recognised. It was a gross distortion of the facts and a woeful ignorance.

James Hathaway: sexual abused by his father’s employer aged 6-12. Sexually abused by various men known to his father aged 13-15. Physically abused by his father.

“It’s a well known fact that men who have been abused abuse,” Seinfold interrupted.

“It is no such thing,” Innocent fielded. “Yes, with a certain element of offenders you will find that they were abused, but you can also find that people can recover or it more likely to make them victims of other forms of abuse.

“I would like to second that,” Dr. McKay added. “And I would say it is most likely straight men who have buried the abuse memories. I don’t know about the later but the former is not the case. If the later is the case than this discussion must stop right now. Perhaps Mr. Hathaway’s own doctor has something to add.”

“Later, Peter. Perhaps fact was too strong a word Susan, but can we agree to a certain correlation? Please continue Nicola.”

Arrested for prostitution, aged 15.

“Not true,” countered Lewis. “Picked up as a teenage runaway and taken home. No arrest, certainly no charge.”

Innocent stared at him and then glared at the social workers. “Why, if I don’t know this, do you?”

“Because no arrest was made ma’am. And as I was sergeant with the officer who made the decision to make no arrest, caution or any other action except to take him home I can guarantee that.”

“But he was prostituting himself?” persisted Seinfold.

“No. He was on the streets, vulnerable, after three days from running away. From the previously mentioned abuse which has absolutely bugger all to do with him and Molly and me.” Robbie was finding it difficult to keep calm. His knuckles were white and his veins standing up on the back of his hands. He wanted to punch someone and then hug James, who sat, still, white, controlled, hugging Molly.

“That is entirely irrelevant anyway, plenty of young people have records. That’s why youth records are sealed. It certainly has no bearing on the Hathaway I know. He’s a police officer not a criminal.” Innocent too wanted to punch someone, anyone one of the three assessing social workers would do. She, too, kept her cool.

“We are just building a complete picture, Jean, James has a streak of instability and mental ill health that may endanger Molly.”

“Bollocks,” Robbie muttered under his breath.

“Quite,” agreed Innocent quietly.

Gibbon went on. Hospitalised twice in his first term at Cambridge, for an overdose and a slashed wrist. Began counselling through the university Catholic chaplaincy and therapy through the university medical service. Asked to leave the Seminary on grounds of unsuitability that included instability leading to poor judgement. Instances of self-harm and bulimia at university and at the Seminary. Currently taking Seroxat. Therefore mentally ill and unstable, not deemed to be a safe option for an adoptive or foster parent of a girl with special needs. Did Caitlin have anything to add?

She most certainly did. One, acknowledging one needed help was a sign of emotional strength. Two, all the self-harm and bulimia were in the past. Three, the very nature of his sexuality, the level of his intelligence and education coupled with the fact he had had support and therapy and counselling indicated he was not likely to abuse but, actually, would better able him to parent. Four, the Seroxat was prescribed for him following one particularly traumatic incident connected with work that had led to flashbacks of his childhood, and continued following his being a victim of a crime. He was being reviewed in a couple of weeks and the plan was to wean him off anyway. But it certainly wasn’t an indication of unsuitability. One in four people experienced mental ill health and depression; you couldn’t take all the children away, even if there was a risk, which there most emphatically not in over 99% of all cases. Seroxat could be prescribed for postnatal depression; it certainly wasn’t an indication of inability to parent. She concluded,

“If you had informed me why you wanted me at this meeting we could have discussed this in detail first and saved everyone a lot of unnecessary stress. I am frankly appalled at the level of ignorance about the difference between psychiatric illness and post traumatic stress and normal periods of depressive illness in this day and age.”

Jean Innocent then added her piece, angry herself, but supremely calm and in control. Why too had she not been made aware of their concerns? DS Hathaway was under her command in CID, an unimaginably stressful job. If she had any concerns for his mental health he would be in counselling, or suspended or even dismissed. In fact, it would have been highly unlikely he would have been permitted to enter the police force much less make sergeant in CID. In fact, he had been about to be been promoted to Inspector, although that was now not guaranteed if he took parental leave, but that was a vacancy issue, nothing more.

Dr. McKay added he would like to endorse everything Dr. O’Brien had said. Dr. Sayer said for what her opinion was worth, she concurred. There was nothing in his childhood and teens to cause concern for his mental health or Molly’s safety.

“Very well,” Chalk said reluctantly, and turned to Mark, asking him to confirm his and Nadia’s wishes for Molly. Did he want his father to adopt, as he would in effect be his daughter’s brother and renounce all rights, or foster until if and when he and Nadia had help for their addiction problems and relationship problems.

Mark broke down and cried. James got up and took Molly to him and he held his daughter tightly. “I don’t know. I want what’s best for Molls, sure. And Dad is the best. You too, mate,” he said, looking into James’ eyes, “but it’s hard to let go.”

It was agreed to grant emergency temporary foster care to Molly’s grandfather on the condition that his fiancé moved in immediately to provide care. They would be monitored and supported by Nicola Wing. Susan Seinfold and Nicola Gibbon would work with Mark and Nadia to see what they wanted, Robert to foster or adopt. They could see that the family was a close, loving, supportive, tolerant, family. This last was with a nod to Lyn, who was sitting a little way back from the table, breast feeding. They would meet in one week to review where they were regarding the wishes of the parents, the capability and suitability of the grandfather’s boyfriend (said with distaste) and Molly’s on-going health issues around the fact that the parents had put heroin in her milk to keep her quiet

Innocent led the way out of the meeting, Lyn following carrying two empty car seats, her Dad following cuddling Emma. James had disappeared yet again with Molly for her fourth nappy change of the meeting. They exited the door to the Health and Social Directorate on to the main corridor of Level 2. A figure leapt up from the seats opposite the pharmacy as they came out on to the corridor and bore down on them.

“Well? How did it go?” snapped Hobson.

“Not good,” said Innocent.

“Could have been worse,” Lewis said and sighed.

“They have a week,” said Lyn, putting down the car seats and staring at Mark, slinking off down the corridor. She smiled sadly. He looked away.

“Where’s James? Is this Molly?”

“Emma.”

“Ooh, isn’t she gorgeous. Yes you are. Gorgeous little girly wirly,” cooed Laura Hobson in a very un Laura Hobson fashion. Innocent cocked an eyebrow at Lewis. He smiled at his boss over the heads of his granddaughter and Hobson.

Just then James returned with his other granddaughter. “Alright?” Robbie asked, handing Emma to Lyn so he could take Molly.

“And you’re gorgeous too. Yes you are, yes you are,” cooed Hobson. Whereas Emma had regarded the strange lady coolly, Molly began to scream and squirm in Robbie’s arms, stretching herself towards James. Robbie handed her back to his fiancé.

“S’sh. S’sh darling. Did the nasty lady scare you?” James glared at the good doctor. “James will make it better.” He wandered away from the group, talking sweet nothings at Molly until she stopped crying.

“Shall we get a coffee? Something to eat? We need to talk. Make plans. Explain to Laura,” Innocent said, taking charge.

“No, better idea. Come back to mine. Lyn’s got to anyways, she can’t get back home tonight. James can cook.”

“Can I?” asked James, coming up to them cradling a now sleeping Molly. He squatted down to put her in her car seat. Lyn began to do the same to Emma.

“You know you love it,” Robbie said.

Lyn winked at James and whispered, “He’d always do the same to Mum, spring guests on her at the last minute. I’ll help.”

*

Everybody but Lyn, who was breast feeding, and James who knew that one sniff would have him unconscious, the lack of sleep he’d had, hit the wine and beer at Lewis’ flat. James got Lyn to help chop vegetables for a pasta sauce while he tried to get Molly to drink a little milk. She vomited yet again. When he returned from giving her a bath Lyn had the pasta in a pan of boiling water and was stir frying the vegetables. Emma was still asleep in the car seat. He took over as she took Molly and wandered about pointing at pictures of Molly's father, her, and her grandparents.

Meanwhile, James could hear much drunken laughter and chaos as his boyfriend, boss and the good doctor tried to negotiate the flat pack cot. He tried not to snigger, but it was hard.

“Don’t laugh, it’s relief drinking. With Dad, anyway. How are you doing James?”

“Me?”

“I don’t mean the demands Molly is putting on you. I know about babies. I mean – all that crap they said.”

“It’s all true though.”

“You’re not bonkers, James, that’s not true. You’re strong. I never knew. Dad said you’d had a pretty crap childhood and you had issues, but I never guessed at...”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” James snapped. He hunched over the wok, his shoulders tense with stress and pain. Lyn reached out and touched his shoulder but he flinched back.

“Sorry. If you can take Molly, she’s nearly asleep I think, I’ll go down to my car. I’ve the travel cot in the boot, there’s room for both girls for tonight.”

“Fine.” James turned and held out his arms. Molly sighed and snuggled down against his chest and began to suck her thumb, her drooping eyelids closing. The laughter and banging obviously didn’t disturb her like it was James. “Stop it Robbie!” he snapped. “You’re pissed. You’ll break it!”

Lewis looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor with Hobson. Innocent was stretched out on the sofa with the instructions. Lewis and Innocent were drinking German beer whereas Hobson had made quite a dent in James’ red wine. He took the bottle from her, or snatched rather. “I'll take that! I need it for the sauce. Put the bits back in the box, for Christ sake, else it’ll get lost.” He rarely swore, let alone blasphemed, he sounded like his father. He was obviously rattled. Robbie looked up.

“Alright pet, calm down.” He started gathering side panels and pushing them into the flat box. “Where’s our Lyn gone?”

“To her car. Come and help me lay the table someone and we need to find enough chairs Sir. I mean Robbie.”

Innocent and Hobson exchanged glances and burst into giggles.

James sighed and it was only the dozing Molly in his arms that kept him calm. Every private thing it had taken years to confide to Robbie was now known and discussed like he was a specimen.

*

An hour later, all sat full and considerably more sober, apart from Hobson, who had made a larger dent in James’ wine, two more bottles to be precise. They discussed the meeting. Emma had awoken and been fed and put in the travel cot Lyn had quietly and quickly assembled. Molly had also awoken and actually eaten a few pieces of chopped carrot and apple with a little of the pasta but threw up the milk again.

“Why don’t you try soya formula?” Hobson suggested, slurring a little, "With all that diarrhoea and vomiting she may have developed a lactose intolerance.”

“I’m taking her to see the doctor tomorrow morning. I ask him what he thinks. I don’t want to make decisions those social workers will question.”

“They're not involved now, pet, it’s the other one, the young one.”

“You have to make the decisions James, and stick to them and defend them, you’ve got to prove you’re capable. You too Robert.” Innocent stood up. “In the meantime, try boiling some water and adding sugar then cool it. You can do that, can’t you, and look after Molly?” She looked at Lewis. “Come on James, you need a break and a nicotine fix. Get your coat and walk me to my car.”

As soon as they were outside Innocent turned on James.

“Are you really okay with this? I wanted to ask before but things moved so quickly. And nastily. Was that all true? Obviously, not being ill, I know you are fine James, you’ve had wobbles, but nothing untoward that overly concerned me. Ever. I think you need to know that.”

“Thank you Ma’am.”

“It’s Jean. At least for the next year. If you’re sure about all this.”

James lit a second cigarette from the fag end of his first before replying, “I can’t imagine calling you anything but Ma’am, so you’ll have to forgive me. I still struggle with Robbie.”

“Well, you had better stop that. Tell me James, is Robert coercing you into this?”

“Why would he?”

“To keep Molly from going into care.”

“I’m not exactly an asset, am I?” he replied acidly.

“James...”

“I love her. I love him. I never, ever thought I’d be a parent. Plans change, but this is like a miracle. When I found out what they had been doing, drugging her, I never, ever want to let her go...”

“Did you want to be a parent?”

“It was never an option, really, was it? I thought I had a vocation and then I was celibate and now I’m not, but I’m in love with a grandfather, so...” he shrugged, helplessly. “It’s hard, isn’t it? But you know that Ma’am. You must have had a career break, maternity leave?”

“I had a nanny and went back after one month, but I was lucky, my husband could afford that for me. Generally, as a rule, it is harder to establish yourself as a returning mother in any career ladder. You could return to being a DS for quite a while.”

“Robbie talked me into the inspector’s exams.”

“Which you aced.”

“Exams are easy,” James shrugged. “People are hard. I don’t have that ‘common touch’ like Robbie.”

“You have other qualities, James, that make you a fine detective, but you seem to be doing fine as a parent, too. Don’t let that meeting undermine your confidence.”

“Ma’am. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We don’t need to, do we? It’s your past and you survived. That makes you strong, not weak. Don’t pay attention to those ignorant cows. They wanted to deny you on grounds of sexuality but they couldn’t so they went looking for excuses. I just need to know that you are happy with having maternity leave as if you were Lewis’ wife.”

James gave his boss a long, serious look before replying, perfectly deadpan, “We’re getting married in three months. I will be.”

Jean Innocent smiled, “Fine. Will you satisfy my curiosity, please, and then we’ll no longer speak of any of it, you’ll just have my unconditional support.”

“What?”

“I understand that at the civil partnership you are changing your surname?”

“Yes.”

“Is that a rejection of your father rather than some attachment to Robbie Lewis?”

James shrugged, “Probably. Maybe. Possibly. I try not to think these through too deeply.”

“Oh James, you think everything through very deeply. Come on. Let’s go back in.”

“I thought I was walking you to your car.”

“I needed the fresh air. I persuaded Laura to leave her car at the hospital, I can’t leave her with you two the state she’s in, now can I?”

*

When Innocent and James returned to the flat they found both baby girls ready for bed and in the large travel cot Lyn had quickly and quietly assembled while her father had cleared the table and washed up. She had then headed for the bathroom for a quick bath, something of a luxury she had no time for at home. Hobson had finished the beer and wine and was currently, as they entered the lounge, bent over the cot tickling Emma’ tummy.

“You’re very cute, yes you are, yes you are,” she was saying, pushing her face in closer. “You cute little baby Robbies,” she continued, adding nonsensical cooing noises before repeating the same words over and over.

James and Jean caught Robbie’s gaze and tried not to giggle as he shrugged helplessly. Just then Lyn entered, dressed in pair of her Dad’s pyjamas, legs and sleeves rolled up and her bleached blonde hair in wet plaits. She watched as Laura waved at Emma and then tickled her under the chin before she stared on tickling Molly’s tummy.

“You beautiful, beautiful baby Robbies. Yes you are, yes you are...”

Molly started to scream as Laura backed away, horrified and helpless. James sighed and picked her up and held her tightly to himself, rocking slightly, glaring at Hobson.

“Did the scary lady make you cry again darling? James will protect you. “ He glared at her, and this time, Hobson glared back, drunk and jealous, biological body clock ticking like a bomb.

“Come on Laura, sweetie,” Jean said, putting her arm around Laura’s shoulders and leading her to the door, grabbing her coat from the back of the sofa as she did so, “Let’s get you home to sleep it off, eh?”

“Bye. Thanks,” called Robbie before taking Molly from James. “Bed, pet. You look fit to collapse. Me and Lyn will be here. Sleep, love, while you can, eh?”

James gave a worried look to Molly before nodding and heading for the bedroom.


	4. Invasion of the cold white stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark, James and Robbie all have introspective moments but Lyn just gets stranded

It was dark when James was half woken up to Lyn and Robbie carrying in the assembled cot and extra chest of drawers by the hall light. He was vaguely aware of them clearing out half of the wardrobe and chest of drawers and unpacking his bags and boxes. Half asleep, he not quite heard them discuss him, the fact he’d knocked himself out with Scotch, the fact that he was asleep clutching his battered old panda from childhood. As they unpacked all Molly’s shopping the small new panda was tucked up in bed with him and Panda.

“Fucking bitch social workers,” he heard Lyn mutter.

The next time he awoke again the dark seemed to be lit by an eerie white glow and he half overheard a conversation about Lyn ‘going now, while the roads are clear and gritted before the next fall of snow’. Robbie was fussing about flasks of tea and blankets and shovels and making sure her phone was fully charged. James thought it was all a bit silly over a sprinkling of snow.

When he finally woke properly it was to Robbie bringing him a tray of coffee and toast in bed. He sat up bleary eyed. Molly was asleep in her new cot next to James’ side of the bed, her chest of drawers the other side of it, under the window, a changing mat on the top. Robbie’s wardrobe was open and half of it was now full of James’ clothes. His guitar was on its stand, next to the cot. He realised Panda and new small panda were still tucked under his arm. He coughed with embarrassment and blushed beetroot red.

“’Sokay pet. Social Workers gave you a hard time. It was his job, seeing you through the abuse and loneliness,” Robbie said, sitting Panda up on James’ bedside table and then sitting the new small one on its leg. James noticed his Bible and Prayer Book were already there. “I’m off to work now love. Molly’s belly seems to have settled a bit, she’s been asleep for hours, still dry and clean. She’s a bit of a temperature and a runny nose though. And look!” With a flourish Robbie whipped back the bedroom curtains and blinding white light poured in. The roof opposite was covered with at least a foot of snow and the windowsill outside alone had more than a foot of snow on it! He remembered vaguely overhearing Lyn and Robbie talk of more snow on its way.

“Did Lyn get back to Manchester safely?”

“Still waiting to hear. Trying not to think about it, to be honest. She left at about three this morning, the BBC website said they’ve gritted all the motorways and more snow was on the way. It’s just been on the news that they’ve closed all airports in the North and Scotland, including Manchester.”

James got up, shivered, and pulled the quilt off the bed and wrapped himself up before he walked to the window. “Shit! That’s got to be a metre in places, and it’s still falling.” He turned to look at Robbie, who had a jumper on under his suit jacket and wellies. Robbie caught his gaze sheepishly.

“Going into work, St. Aldates. Officers can’t get into work all over the county, all the villages and outlaying suburbs are snowed in. I’m going in to bloody run the station, being the nearest senior officer.” He clumped across the room and planted a kiss on James’ mouth. “Going now. Love ya. Don’t dwell on that bloody meeting, just look after Molly and be bloody marvellous, okay?”

After Robbie had left James climbed back into bed and pulled the tray from the bedside table to beside him and poured himself coffee and sat, sipping coffee, staring at the cot, wondering how his life could have changed so dramatically in just over 24 hours. He was currently using up his leave, but in a week it may be that he wouldn’t return to work for over a year. He suddenly became aware that Molly’s eyes were open. That she was staring at him with big blue eyes exactly like her grandfather’s, cool intelligent appraisal. Considering how she’d screamed and been so listless it unnerved James.

“Are you okay Molly?”

She stared.

“James is here, darling. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” That reminded him, he was going to call the doctor about Hobson’s suggestion of her being lactose intolerant.

She stared some more, moving her arm a little and pushed herself up, but fell back. She let out a little grizzle. James was on his feet instantly, scooping her up out of the cot. She was burning. Why didn’t Robbie say? Or tell him to phone the doctor? He grabbed his phone and hit Robbie’s fast dial key.

“She’s hot! She’s burning up!” he panicked.

“She has a little temperature, I did tell you,” Robbie sounded so calm. “We were told she’d have flu like symptoms. I bought Calpol. Give her a spoonful.”

“What?”

Robbie laughed. “Magic pink medicine, it’s paracetamol solution. That’ll bring the temperature down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Does paracetamol bring your temperature down if you’re sick, pet?”

“Yes, but...”

“Well then... Oh shit!” Robbie dropped the phone and leapt back as a white van skidded across the road and mashed into the lamppost a few seconds earlier he’d been standing by. The bonnet was dented and steam rising from it. The young man at the wheel was looking stunned.

“Robbie! Robbie! Sir!” he could hear James squealing on the phone. He picked it up.

“I’m okay pet, but there’s been an accident. I’m a bit busy. Give her Calpol, get wrapped up and go to the library or book-shop. Get some books, James, that’s how you do everything isn’t it? Bye love.”

The phone rang again instantly. Sue Seinfold, informing him his son and his wife had checked out of the Bed and Breakfast last night and no one knew where they had gone. He found them once, could he do it again?

“I can put a APB on the car again, but really, we’re short staffed and our cars can’t get on the road either. It’s years since Panda cars were fitted with snow tyres or carried snow chains. Not an economic use of limited resources. Do my best.” He hung up. “Damn that bloody boy! What the hell is wrong with him? You alright Sir?” he asked the young lad stumbling out of the white van.

The lad looked confused. Robbie showed his card and checked the boy over for a head injury. He was fine, so he offered to help push the van back on the road, giving advice about restricting the speed a bit. It was going to be a long day, he thought, as minutes later he was helping up an elderly man who had stumbled on the ice. He was still half a mile from St. Aldates.

*

James was impressed with everything Lyn and her Dad had done, putting his clothes away nicely and neatly, his records and CDs were on the shelf with Robbie’s, and a couple of shelves had been cleared of photos and junk and his books unpacked. The high chair was assembled and at the kitchen table, also the playpen put up and filled with the toys and books James had brought. He sat Molly at the high chair and gave her the Calpol and heated baby porridge from a packet in the microwave and decided to have some porridge himself, annoyed when he found Robbie didn’t have any. He made more toast and coffee and phoned the doctor and was told that unless it was an emergency it would have to wait, they were short staffed and had a waiting room full of minor injuries already, people unable to get their children up the hill to A&E. He realised everything sounded different, muffled and silent but full of the noises of children, like a weekend, but more.

After breakfast he and Molly stared out of the window, watching all the children from the flats, who normally ignored each other or fought, work together on building a huge snowman in the car park. James hated snow, he always had. It was wet and cold and throughout his entire childhood he had never understood the appeal of compacting the freezing stuff into hard, icy balls and chucking them at people. When they hit you they hurt and the cold burned you. It was even less funny to shove cold snow down someone’s (his) back. Although, in his 32 years of life, James could not recollect seeing so much snow. He came away from the window, shuddering. Go out in that, to buy a book! It will be gone soon, he decided. Snow never stayed long in England.

He didn’t know if it was the temperature, the Calpol or the not constantly pooing herself, but Molly seemed quite content even when he put her in her playpen. She sat on her bottom reaching out at various new toys and putting them in her mouth. The noisy rag doll and the pink dog with teething ring seemed to be favourites. James put on the DVD called Baby Bach and intended to sort out the kitchen and make a comprehensive shopping list but he found the video strangely hypnotic with the moving baby toys and glove puppets set to the glorious music. He had to force himself up off the sofa and into the kitchen. He began to systematically empty the cupboards, clean and re-order them and write on two lists as he went – things from his flat and things to buy. Lewis had a frying pan, a big saucepan and a milk pan and that was it! Obviously, the wok he’d already brought weeks ago when cooking for Lyn’s last visit, but he needed so much more, and not just pans but wooden spoons, mixing bowls, his kitchen knife sent, his blender, his food processor, his bread-maker... also from home he could bring his herbs and spices, and in fact his spice rack. Shopping was another matter, considering he did not really feel like driving in this, and in fact, wasn’t his car at the Trout, in its car park in Wolvecote? That felt like another life time ago, one where you got so drunk after work with your boss he drove you home to his home and fucked your brains out.

Then the heating packed up. And then there was a baby left on the door. And suddenly he was stuck at home cleaning the kitchen and...

Molly was screaming. He turned around. She was flat on her back, it looked like she’d tried to pull herself up and fell back with a smack. He scooped her up, panicking about head injuries. He should have put a quilt or blanket on the floor of the playpen. Why didn’t he think? Why? He tried to check her eyes but he was panicking too much. Was this an emergency? The receptionist earlier had been so sniffy. He grabbed the phone and called Robbie again.

“Kids fall. As long as she’s not sleepy or asleep or throwing up she’s fine. Chill. And stop calling me, I’m busy!”

“Robbie?” But he’d hung up. The DVD had finished so James put on the news and sat, holding Molly, who was merely snuffling now, and part of that was the ‘cold turkey’ more than tears. He began to realise how bad it was around the country and started to really worry about Lyn. She should have stayed. She had been worried about losing her job. Her new partner had left her for his PA and she’d had to go back to work immediately but it looked like she could have just gone to the JR...

And left him with two babies? No thanks! He had little experience as it was. In fact until now the only baby he’d ever looked after was his second cousin Karen after Martha had fallen pregnant still a student. She’d been studying Fine Art and Fashion Design at Brookes the same time he’d been at the Seminary and then training to be a policeman. She’d been the only supportive voice in the family over the whole kicked out of the Seminary business and he’d been equally supportive with her over the pregnant out of wedlock business. There were still Great Aunts and their Grandmother, of course, who just didn’t speak to either of them nearly ten years on. Karen’s Dad had married Martha, though, and they had Lily too now, but somehow they had dropped out of keeping in touch much. The last time had been in the summer, when he’d turned up a shaking pale ghost at Lily’s First Communion. At the tea afterwards Granny had made loud comments to everyone at the audacity of that girl to invite that invert to the service. His Dad had got drunk and maudlin and pawed all over him and Martha had dragged him upstairs to demand why he looked like a ghost, white as a sheet and even skinnier than usual.

“I was raped,” he had said softly, not looking at her. “I don’t want to talk about it. He drugged me and yes, they caught the bastards, both of them, okay. End of discussion.”

Martha had coped in a student flat with a baby and a degree. He should stop feeling sorry for himself.

“Right Molly sweetheart, come on, let’s sort out this kitchen for your Grandpa, eh?” He sat her in her high chair and gave her the one and only wooden spoon, which went straight into her mouth. “No darling, make a drum.” He banged it on her tray. She copied for a while and then it was back in her mouth. Still, he’d cleaned and ordered the cupboards and managed to make a kind of stew with various tins and vegetables from the fridge. It smelt vile, and tasted worse. Shopping was looking essential. There was a Co-op up the road, he decided. That would do.

Half an hour later he and Molly were muffled up against the cold, she in her flowered pink beanie, he in his black one he’d bought on impulse in the North Laine in Brighton, never expecting to wear it. Molly was in her sling, his coat around her, so she should be warm enough, James decided. He, on the other hand, was freezing. She looked cute, though, he was happy to see as he looked a shop window, admiring their reflection. He looked very much the new age, Guardian reading new man dad. He looked closer and then decided he didn’t like the look, he’d forgotten to shave, let alone put on any make-up. He mustn’t let himself go. It took years of ever increasing, perfected make-up before his boss noticed him. He needed Robbie to still see him as him, to fancy him, not see him as unpaid nursemaid to his granddaughter. Not that sex was uppermost in his mind right now.

The window he was looking at himself and Molly belonged to Costa Coffee and a latte and cake suddenly seemed the most attractive thing in the world. While he was there, letting Molly grab at handfuls of lemon sponge crumbs and shove them quite happily in her mouth, his phone rang. It was Lyn.

“I can’t get hold of Dad!”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. We’re at a service station. We’re fine, they’re giving free coffee and blankets. Apparently we have to wait the storm out.”

“Storm?”

“Yes, all around Manchester there’s a massive snow storm like nothing I’ve seem before, and last year we went snow boarding in Aspen.” She snorted. “From jet setting to single mum, eh? I was worried that either of you had seen them shut off Manchester and were worried about me.”

“I saw a little news, but I’ve been busy.”

“How’s Molly?”

“Oh, much better. She just nicked some of my cake. And she had porridge this morning, but I made it with boiled water rather than milk, just to be safe. The doctors are too busy with the snow to worry about us so I don’t know what to do?”

“Oh James, don’t worry. Alpro Soy do a milk safe for infants, if you can’t get WySoy, okay? Do it on my say so, and try the ordinary milk again in a couple of week. Why is Dad not answering?”

“He’s busy being acting CS in Oxford, at St. Aldates.”

“No shit. CS before retirement. Cool. Mum would have loved that. Oh sorry, I shouldn’t...”

“I’m not jealous of your Mum. How could I be?”

“Oh. Good. I found this lovely old lady, here, she’s on her way to see her tenth grandchild. Anyways, she’s been looking after Emma while me and this doctor have been fixing up people. It’s amazing. Like the Blitz. Someone was in a hypo and another diabetic had loads of med and gave some. Tell Dad not to worry, if he is, and under his busy busy he will be, he’s an old fusspot. Bet he fusses over you.”

“I don’t think so, he’s careful with me, but he probably wants to. Fussing suffocates me, and here I am fussing over Molly like a...”

“Old mother hen, James, or just a mother?”

“Don’t know. Not thinking about that.”

Lyn knew she’d pushed it. James had completely shut down with her again. That meeting had been torture for him, but it certainly clarified a lot of things for her. She had always wondered what such a beautiful young man, who surely could have any gay man his own age, was doing with her Dad, but it was obvious: he made him feel safe.

“Oh,” she lied, “a policeman has just come in. I think he’s making an announcement. Let you know when I finally get home.”

*

Mark was rubbing at his face nervously and pacing, wishing they had a TV in this place to stare at and they had warm clothes. At least here they weren’t sharing a bathroom, he thought gratefully, as it was a very good thing. He could stand it no longer and banged on the door, fed up with listening to the sounds of Nadia puke.

“Alright pet?”

“No I’m bloody not!” she yelled through the door. She came out, wiping her mouth on her skirt. “I feel shit.”

“I know love, I know,” Mark pulled her into a hug. She was shivering violently. “I’m sorry pet, my bastard Dad took the lot.”

“You know where there’s some gear, come on, man.”

“It’s an investment. For our future, you know that, don’t you, eh?” He stroked her hair, it felt like thick twists of soft wool. Always surprised him, he expected it to feel like his first girlfriend’s, a West Indian girl from Blackbird Leys. Her hair had been like course wire. But of course, Nadia wasn’t from African descent at all.

“Just a bit! Come on Mark, for me. Please! God, it’s so bloody quiet. I never thought I’d miss her.”

“Alright!” yelled Mark. “I’ll fetch it! Do you want her too?”

Nadia hugged herself tightly. “Your Dad’s the best, you said. An’ I liked the look of the boyfriend...”

“Don’t call him that! Oh God, it keeps going through me bloody head. You don’t think me Dad takes, do you? Oh God, I’m gonna chunder...” He ran into the bathroom. He could hear Nadia laugh hysterically outside the door.

“You honestly think your Dad would! Jesus, you’re a right dick, Mark. You told me that James had make-up on and smelt of girl perfume. And he’s got Molls, not your Da’, right? Are you gonna get us something.”

Mark came out of the bathroom wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I’ll try. But I’ll walk and if Dad’s there I’m not going in, okay?”

“Give Moll a kiss from me.”

“’Course pet, ‘course.”

*

James sat on the floor, chicken casserole in the oven, along with a fish pie for tomorrow, having brought reduced fish and chicken and a cheap casserole dish along with oats, flour, milk, bread, vegetables, fruit, juice, soya formula and whatever else in could lay his hands on in the ever emptying shelves of both supermarkets and chemists in the Summertown shopping parade. People everywhere were panic buying. Now he was on the floor, a row of baby Lego towers in all the colours, rainbow order. He kept repeating the colours and building the towers and Molly kept knocking them down and squealing with laughter. They had just moved to the stacking cups when his text bleeped. It was Lyn.

‘This is feeling like The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper. Do you know it? Not the shit movie.’

‘Hate movie. Love book. Spend whole summer pretending to be Will. Didn’t know you liked fantasy. What’s happening?’ he texted back one handed, stacking the cups to make a tower. He got half way before Molly knocked them down. She handed him the biggest to start again.

“Clever girl Molly!” James smiled widely. This was secret smile that really was only known to Molly. Only his mother would have recognised it, he’d not smiled so happily or naturally since he was five.

‘Yes,’ texted Lyn. ‘When I was a girl. Will was cool. That girl in some of the others, she was crap. Police are going to get us to leave in convoy for the next service station, taking us 11 miles nearer to Manchester, after that they don’t know. Scared now. Don’t tell Dad. What was her name?’

“Juh Juh Juh!!!” Molly shouted, spreading stacking cups about the floor.

James grabbed the shape sorter box and emptied balls, cubes and pyramids in different pinks on the floor. He picked up a ball and put it in the circular hole. Molly grinned and picked up a cube and put it in her mouth, feeling the corners with her tongue.

‘Jane,’ he texted back. ‘I thought she was okay in Greenwitch. But apart from Lucy in Narnia, good female leads in children’s fantasy are a bit thin. Have to tell your Dad something. Let me know when you’re next off the road. Good luck. Don’t be scared x.’

Molly made a strange gurgle and threw up violently over the cube, carpet and her dress and cardigan. The phone bleeped, but James ignored it as he got Molly in the bath, washed, dressed; figured out the screaming meant she was hungry, gave her more rice porridge with soya formula and a couple of bread sticks; sat with her on the sofa and watched In the Night Garden on CBeebies until she’d wriggled to go into the playpen and started chewing noisy rag doll, now called Rosie and banging the pink dog teething ring, now called Joey...

Basically, it wasn’t until she texted to say she was home three hours later he picked up her reply, ‘Won’t be, Step Daddy ;)’.

*

Mark stepped back into the freezing shadows behind the communal bins, obscured tastefully by bushes, as he saw his Dad approach the front door of the flats. He’d blown it. He turned and retched, before standing up and shivering. Molly would be fine; she was a girl. Dad always loved Lyn best. He angrily brushed a tear away from his eye with the back of his hand. Dad had never been there, never. Not at stuff at school, not when he was supposed to be on holiday even, that bloody Morse always took him away. Shit! Perhaps he’d had a thing with Morse too?

Mark hugged himself and set himself off on the long, cold, difficult walk back to Iffley Road. No, he was barking. Must be bloody withdrawal. Morse was a straight a bloke as they came, a bit weird, but always made time to talk to him about his homework and that. Mind you, he’d always thought his Dad was straight, but how would you know your Dad was bisexual? He hoped Nadia was right. He was sure that James had make-up on when he’d handed Molly to him in that meeting, and smelt like a ponce. A tart. Shit, he had been a tart too, a child tart. Yeah, he must be taking it.

It was something that really, really mattered to Mark.

*

Robbie stripped off hat, gloves, coat, jumper and jacket and boots by the door, soaked through and freezing he was. He yanked off his tie and rolled up his sleeves as he walked into the living room. He was greeted by the glorious sight of James’ bum in tight jeans waving in the air; the lad was bent over, hunting for something under the sofa. Molly was sound asleep in the playpen, sucking her thumb and holding the odd rag doll that was made of different cloths and textures and stuffings. Something was cooking in the oven that smelt lovely. Robbie smiled and crept up behind James, kneeling behind him, putting one hand on James’ lovely arse before snaking his other arm around the man’s waist, pushing up tee shirt and jumper, stroking his stomach and chest with the flat of his hand before pinching his nipple. James gasped at his touch and then moaned, pushing his backside into Robbie’s hand, before twisting his head to look up at Robbie.

“This is a very nice hello.”

“It was a nice view, too inviting to ignore. Hey you. How are you doing?” Robbie sat back and pulled James on to his lap, turning him around as he did so to kiss him.

Nervously, James backed away. “I’ve not shaved all day, you won’t want to...”

“Says who?” Robbie said before kissing him deeply. He pulled away. “Ah, lovely. No nicotine.”

“Oh God, it’s been awful, felt like screaming and banging my head. I’ve drunk so much coffee...”

“Off you go then, my poor baby. Wrap up and go for a smoke. But hurry back, me and Val learnt with Lyn early on, you takes your chances when you can, and I’m having that sweet arse of yours my lovely lad, soon as you’re back.”

James laughed, “Oh, I think I can wait a bit longer!”

*

“Mark! Mark!” Nadia threw herself into Mark’s arms as he came into their cheap room. “You’ve been ages! I’ve been so scared! You didn’t take the phone and you’ve had so many texts and calls.”

“What?”

“He knows, Mark. He knows we’ve taken a cut, he just...”

Angrily, afraid, Mark pushed Nadia away. She fell on the bed. “What did you say you stupid bitch? Did you tell him?”

“’Course not, you bastard! I just said we gave him it all, we picked it up in Hong Kong like we were told, and sewed it all into the nappies and we gave him the lot...”

“Okay, okay.”

“He knows we’re here. He said the name of this place. How does he know?”

The phone rang. Nervously, Mark answered and listened as he was threatened, as Nadia was threatened. He was given 24 hours to find the lot. After he ended the call he sat down on the bed, white as a sheet. Nadia came up behind him and hugged him protectively. “What are we gonna do mate? I’m scared. I wanna go home. England is cold.” She sounded so young.

“I’m thinking Nads.”

They sat in silence, shivering with the cold, with the desperate need for heroin, with fear.

“Okay, first we leave the car and mash up the phone.” He threw it on the floor and jumped on it until it was in pieces. “Right, he’s probably got some tame geek who traced the phone, so he can’t now, right? We’re gonna use that money we got from him to go into a decent hotel, one with TV and hot showers and mini bar, everything. Tomorrow, when Dad goes to work I’ll get the gear, okay? Then we go to London, sell the lot, okay. We’re gonna tough out the cold turkey this time, sell the lot, you hear? Then we’ll buy tickets home and go out to your Mam’s folks place up county Wollamuru and stay there, okay. If we wanna get high we stick to cheap booze, right?”

“And Molly?”

“This is the fuckin’ fairest place on Earth to be mixed race, Nads, seriously now, one in every five babies here are mixed race. No racism, two Dads to love her, with money, she’ll do fine. Better than fine. She won’t get the crap you got, get, from the whites, she just won’t. Even your old man’s family get shit as Greeks, right. It’s just not like that here. Dad’s retiring, she’ll get a better deal than me, and he was alright, you know? I know I moan but.. it was okay. He was busy, making a career, saving peoples lives, arresting sick murders. Being a hero, for fucks sake. Molls will do great. Maybe we’ll farm, or make money out of tourists and we can send for her, right? I don’t even know if the stash will get two tickets yet, defino not three, babies are extra, you know that. They paid for her to hide the smack, you know that? We agreed, my Dad would have her, yeah. Come on pet. Wrap up warm, we’re doing a runner and going into town to a proper hotel.”

*

James sighed and stared at the sleeping Molly. Her temperature had broken, and she was left with a runny nose. So far she’d kept the little boiled fish and mashed potatoes with carrots and peas she’d had at the high chair the same time he and Robbie had had the fish pie and vegetables, Robbie wanting that for today and the chicken the next. Lyn and Emma were safely back home and Robbie had laughed a little too hard at Lyn’s text. Sometimes he seemed like a man on the edge of his nerves. James lived on his nerves, but Robbie Lewis was his rock, solid and stable. It was a little scary, but he tried to understand, but he couldn’t. Lewis was brilliant, how could Mark be his fault, we make our own choices. James hated those who committed crimes and blamed unhappy childhoods. He had a bloody terrible childhood but he was still responsible for his choices. Robbie blaming himself for Mark’s addiction and appalling parenting was the flip side and equally wrong. How could such a good man be anything other than a good parent, the kind of father James could only have dreamed of...

Okay, that was a little scary.

He sighed and turned over in Robbie’s arms. He was sore, but he didn’t care, letting Robbie have him a second time was all he could do to offer comfort. He didn’t even know what Robbie wanted, what he wanted? Mark and Nadia to sort themselves out and have Molly back, or, as Robbie had said quite plainly at the meeting, to Innocent and to him, adopt her, leaving him the what...?

Mother?

No, that wasn’t right, he was male, so it was totally impossible. But whatever he was, he was emphatically not going to stop putting her needs first, and he was never, ever going to suddenly stop hugging her as if she disgusted him, whatever she had done, had done to her.

His face was wet again. He was a baby. One long arm snaked out of the warm bedclothes into the cold air and reached for Panda, and still with his head on Robbie’s chest, he started to suck the ancient cloth ear until he fell asleep.

Robbie, far from sound asleep, sighed sadly and stroked James’ hair, feeling sick with guilt. What had he done, insisting on James’ body to comfort his own selfish needs? Last time Panda had been needed was after the rape, and understanding a little more now, he knew that after every sexual assault James had cried himself to sleep with Panda, even at fifteen, even up at Cambridge he suspected, having a dreadful feeling there was more to come as conversations about fellows and students, about duty of care, or lack of it, came back into his mind.

But who was he to judge anyone’s parents, least of all James’. He had no idea why James' father had taken money from men to hurt his son, but he had hurt his own son, damaged him beyond repair by years of neglect, years of putting his career, bloody Morse, first and then... Oh God, then, he’d just got drunk. So drunk he didn’t have time for Mark, didn’t notice his own grief, didn’t want to know. In his own way he was a bigger bastard than James’ own father.


	5. At the end of the day, there is always family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James needs to call on help, and discovers something alarming...
> 
> Okay, small note, with my own characters I just leave them, describing them as I see them, but for this, my daughter's absolute favourite thing I have made up for her, she has a dream cast list for James' cousin and second cousins. Up to you if you cast them in your imagination, but here they are:
> 
> Martha = Emilia Fox (natch)  
> Karen = Ramona Marquez (Karen in Outmubered, BBC and Princess Margaret in The Kings's Speech)  
> Lily = Isabella Blake Thomas (Violet Elizabeth in Just William, BBC and Lily Rose in The Green Ballon Club, BBC)

After three hours of non-stop screaming and nappy changing James realised that actually, there was someone he could call. Especially since all the schools were closed and she would probably be also at her wits end.

Martha Hathaway-Baker answered the phone in the hall, walking back into the dining room, horrified as she watched ten years old Karen climb on the table and seven years old Lily start passing her up chairs. She had said yes to the table being turning into a Wendy house, not a...

“Who? What? Sorry.

“James!!!”

Martha listening to the complex chain of events that led James to be ringing, desperate for help, a screaming baby in the background. Everything was news to her: James out to himself; James with a boyfriend; James with an older boyfriend (okay that one figured, he’d always been middle aged and a bit boring); James left holding his partner’s granddaughter, literally, at his wits end. He was calling in a favour, and she knew it.

All the while she listened she watched her daughters. Once the stack was built on top of the sheets and scarves draped over the table to make the walls and door to the house she watched, horrified as, encouraged by her big sister, Lily began to climb the chair tower...

“Okay, gotta go now, but I’m coming. Text me the address! Lily!” Martha dropped the phone and launched herself at the table, catching Lily as it rained dining chairs around them. Karen instantly protested it was definitely, absolutely not her fault.

“Right, we’re going to visit Uncle James.”

“That’s the one in the stories with all the Barbies and fairies, isn’t it?” demanded Lily. “Uncle James! Uncle James!”

“No it’s not,” said Karen in a superior voice, arms folded, a cross mini adult. “He’s the one who turns Barbies into angels. And he’s about ten miles tall,” Karen told her sister but Lily wasn’t listening, she’d rushed upstairs, coming back down with an arm full plastic teenage dolls of various brands

Sighing, Martha told her the snow was too deep, it would be difficult to carry them all; they might die in the journey.

“But that’s the point Mummy, they have to die to become angels,” protested Lily.

Sighing again, this time deeply, Martha shepherded them upstairs. Why did the schools have to close? She remembered still having to trudge through snow to get to school.

*

 

Lewis was in Innocent’s office, Innocent still snowed in, up to his eyes in a logistics nightmare, with so many officers unable to get in and other officers from other towns and forces reporting in to St. Aldates, stuck in Oxford. Innocent herself had no chance, living just outside a small hamlet of Kirtlington, her house up a small, snow drifted lane, made worse by her farmer neighbour, who in trying to clear the road for her had got stuck and his tractor was now blocking the road, covered with fresh snow fall.

A young woman officer Lewis didn’t know came in with a report from a B&B on the Iffley Road, an unpaid bill and an abandoned car. Lewis sighed deeply, and as soon as he was left alone let his head crash on to the desk, fighting tears. The room was booked to the same people as the car was hired to: a Mr and Mrs Mark Lewis.

*

 

After James got off phone he tried to start to sort out the washing. He got all Molly’s clothes in the machine, before looking at the bed, rumpled and stained from the night before, but decided to leave it until later. Molly was still screaming non-stop, even though he had put her in the sling and was carrying her around the flat with him.

Desperate for her to stop that constant moaning wail, he sat on the bed and taking her out of the sling and laying her beside him he picked up his guitar and started playing and singing, any nursery rhyme and nonsense song he could remember and pick out the tune for. He hit gold with the Beatles' Obladi Oblada as she quietened to a snuffle. When he stopped she hit the guitar a few times until he started again.

And again.

And yet again. On the sixth rendition she fell asleep. He left her to sleep and went back to the kitchen where he piled in his and Robbie’s mixed colours into the machine along with Molly’s and then looked thoughtfully at her original car seat, shoved in a corner. Going back to the bedroom he dug out some evidence gloves from his suit pocket, checking on Molly as he was back the bedroom. He then went back to the living room and grabbed the car seat, sitting on the sofa with it and trying to figure out how to take the cover off. It looked odd but he couldn’t quite work out why. He tilted his head, thinking and poked at the padding, before getting up and fetching a sharp knife and slicing through the middle. Bags and bags of white powder fell out.

Immediately he leapt up and fetched his work phone and called a very snappy Lewis.

“What now? She’s fine. Stop fussing, pet, you need to sort this out alone. You can’t call me at work.”

“Sir. This is a work related matter.”

“Stop calling me Sir. You’re not at work, and God knows if you are still my DS.”

“I’m on leave, normal leave, as far as work goes, Sir. Will you please listen.”

“James, whatever it, call uniform.” Lewis hung up.

James called back immediately, “There is a fucking huge stash of heroin in Molly’s car seat, Sir. Must be worth thousands on the streets. They dumped her for us to look after their smuggled gear. Bet they came in from Australia with an Asian stop over,” he managed to get out. Lewis didn’t hang up but said nothing. “Sir?”

Still nothing. James could hear a sobbing noise. “Sir? Robbie? Speak to me, please. Robbie!”

James heard Robbie blow his noise and take a sharp, deep breath. “Robbie? Sir?”

“I’m coming now, meself, to collect it. Get it in evidence bags, Sergeant.”

“Will do Sir. Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” Robbie snapped.

James didn’t know what to think, he was used to people he loved letting him down and breaking the law.

He had just got off the phone and put the car seat and its contents in evidence bags when Martha arrived, so he had no time to dwell or worry. Karen talked non-stop, as usual, only interrupted when Lily shouted above her. Their loud demands to see the baby woke her up and James rushed to the bedroom to get to her just as Robbie arrived, to find a strange woman and two noisy girls who instantly declared he was so not Uncle James’ boyfriend because he was so old, like maybe 300 and Uncle James was young, like 22. Martha apologized and tried to introduce herself as James cousin, explaining he lived with her for a while when his family were homeless. All the while Martha and Karen were talking at him Lily was bouncing on his sofa, declaring it brilliantly bouncy.

By now Robbie was bemused and confused, which was at least a distraction from the guilt that made his stomach sick and hollow, his chest heave and his heart pound. All the way here in the Traffic Land Rover he had claimed as his own for the duration his hands shook on the wheel. He looked for the evidence bags but couldn’t see them.

Just then James came in with Molly who smiled and reached for Robbie. He gave her a hug, breathing in her fresh baby scent and was shocked to feel his eyes prickle with tears again. He looked down at the two little girls now cooing up at his granddaughter. It occurred to him they these girls were going to become his nieces or something in three months. He looked down and, forcing himself to smile, said,

“I’m not 300 I’m 59 thank you very much, and of course I’m older that James, how else could I have a grandchild?”

Lily immediately insisted the baby was his and James but Karen corrected her in a superior fashion,

“Boys can’t have babies, there would need to be a mummy as well to make a baby.”

Lily demanded, “Why?”

Karen explained it was all to do with eggs and seeds and tubes and bums at which point Lily started running around shouting ‘bum’ at the top of her voice. She looked at her little sister as if she were stupid but whispered quietly ‘bum bum bum’ all the same.

Martha rolled her eyes in embarrassment. James grinned, trying not to laugh. “They are so like you when you were little,” he couldn’t help teasing. He had the evidence bags in his hands, which he held up before crossing the room to Robbie and kissing him. Martha smiled widely at the kiss.

“Well, nice to meet you,” Robbie said, watching the girls, Lily was running in circles around Karen, and handed Molly to James, swapping her for two evidence bags, a huge one with the car seat and another full of bags of white powder. He kissed James quickly and left. James could feel the power of Robbie’s anguish and pain in that kiss, but he couldn’t talk about it to Martha. She must think his boyfriend was such a grumpy old sod.

On Martha’s suggestion they all wrapped up again and went to the nearest park. James sat and watched the girls and Martha build a snow woman and then the girls dragged their sled up the hill and Martha came to join James and offered to take Molly so James could smoke. She demanded the whole story – from self-loathing celibate to rape victim (last she heard) to living with his boss. James told her how much he’d been in love with his boss for years, never having a clue the feelings were reciprocated, that Lewis was in fact bisexual, although, coming from that generation and background, he was in fact Robbie’s first boyfriend too. He told her about the proposal and, pulling of his glove, showed her the ring just as the girls returned. They squealed and demanded to be bridesmaids, never letting up as they trooped back to Lewis’ flat.

Once back in the flat James bathed and fed Molly with the girls’ ‘help’ while Martha made hot chocolate and pancakes. They watched TV and ate pancakes, every so often demanding to be bridesmaids. Eventually their favourite show came on and they sat still, so still James trusted Karen to hold Molly. She stared at the bright TV screen, grinning, loving being a big girl. She fell asleep in Karen’s arms and Martha picked her up and laid her on her quilt in the playpen and dragged James to the bedroom.

“One, you need family there. You need a witness – me. One each, I think you’ll find. I will be your witness; your matron of honour in other words, and the girls can be with me as your bridesmaids. Two, I design what you wear. Three, before you open your big gob James, you are the bride and you are allowed to be as camp and as gay as you like, it’s your day.”

James stared for a few moments before scowling at his cousin. “One, thank you, I did wonder who to ask as my witness and was embarrassingly left with one of the guys for the band, but that would offend the others, or my boss, the chief super that is, which would be embarrassing.”

“God, are you inviting your parents?”

James nodded solemnly, “Oh yeah, and I had thought about holding the reception on Mars with a flotilla of pigs lightening up the sky. Of course not, Martha, don’t be bloody silly.”

“Sorry.” Martha managed to look shamefaced for about two seconds. “But the girls can be bridesmaids, right?”

“I am not a bride.”

“Are.”

“Aren’t.”

“Are too.”

“So. Aren’t.”

“Yes you are, admit it.”

James pulled himself up to his quite impressive height and looked down on his cousin. “I. Am. Not. A. Bride.”

“Are we not getting married after all then, pet?” Lewis asked, mock offended, from the doorway, a small girl hanging from each arm.

James looked at him, blushing. “Of course we are.”

“I was only offering to be his witness,” Martha said, all hurt and offended.

“You were insisting on designing me a wedding dress,” James argued, angrily.

“Did I say dress? I never said dress. Obviously it would be a suit, white, with a nice waistcoat, mother of pearl, beaded, sequinned, umm...? Have to have a think. You are perfect, James, to design for. Single breasted, and, maybe tails...”

“Martha, Robbie is here. It’s bad luck to...”

Martha jumped up and punched the air. “Aha! That’s a yes.”

“Stay for tea pet,” Robbie offered Martha, “James made this chicken thing, there’s more than enough.” He span around again, squealing girls holding his arms as they span, legs trailing out. “Everyone out now, I’m getting changed,” he said putting the girls down.

“I need to phone Dan, my husband. He’s got a four by four, he can come fetch us.”

“Invite him too, I never knew James had family. I want to hear absolutely everything.”

“On no,” James groaned, leaning his head on the doorframe.

“Fairies three, elves nil,” Martha whispered at him as she walked past, shepherding the girls down the corridor to living room.

*

Outside, by the bins behind the bushes Mark had paced and smoked, smoked and paced, waiting for the strange woman and her kids to come out. He had left it too late, he thought, as he watched his Dad come home. He swore under his breath and shivered. He was half frozen; he really needed to sort out a proper winter coat. He had forgotten the cold of home.

*

Molly didn’t sleep through the night that night. She’d slept in the playpen all through supper and Dan arriving late, quickly gobbling down stew and bread and carrying his sleepy but still argumentative daughters to the car. Mercifully, Martha had been kind, James reflected as he paced up and down the living room to first Baby Bach, then Baby Beethoven, then Baby Mozart before finally giving up and putting on BBCNews24 and listening to the endless snow stories. Yes, Martha had let him off, telling the bare bones of that summer, the facts of his Dad’s dismissal and her Mother’s last days before Motor Neurones claimed her. She had said something about James having to sleep in her room and loving her toys, but had stopped at his blushes. She had even shushed the girls when they had demanded the Barbie Angels story.

Molly wasn’t crying, she didn’t have a temperature, she’d not been sick for a day, apart from when Lily had fed her snow and not even much of an upset stomach since the morning or even runny nose now. She just would not switch off, she wanted to play but James wouldn’t let her, keeping her rocked and held. As soon as she realised the moving toys on the TV and nice music had stopped she screamed so off went the news and on went the whole Baby Einstein range again.

And again.

And yet again. He put her down in the playpen and yawned and the next thing he knew Robbie was shaking him awake, looking as white as a ghost.

“Uh?”

“You’re freezing love. Go to bed.”

“Wha-what? Molly? Where?”

“Asleep, I just carried her through to the cot. You best get off to bed too pet, and sleep while you can.”

“T-time isit?”

“Half past four. Got a call. There’s a body. Royal Oxford.”

“Where’zat?”

“Park End Street. Come on pet, let’s get you to bed.” Robbie hauled James to his feet and with a strong arm around his waist half-carried, half dragged his boyfriend to bed, tucking him up like a small child before planting a kiss on his forehead. James looked up at him, really looked at him.

“You ‘kay Sir?”

“There’s been more snow, it’s 12 below, the snow has frozen and I’ve got to go out to attend a body. Bit pissed off, love, yeah. You sleep pet, don’t worry yourself.”

“I’m your sergeant,” James mumbled, falling asleep.

Lewis looked back fondly as he closed the bedroom door. “Not anymore you’re not, not anymore,” he muttered to himself. By the time James was a DS again he’d be someone else’s. Lewis sighed and started to pull on extra layers and wellies before leaving, thankful he’d borrowed a Traffic four by four to get about the city.


	6. Too much pressure can break a man

When Lewis arrived at the hotel room on the fourth floor Hobson was already there, as well as two SOCOs he didn’t recognise, one was from Witney and one was from Midsomer, who lived in Oxford and commuted. As all police in Thames Valley had been ordered to their nearest station if they couldn’t get in to their actual place of work, here they were. John, the team leader arrived soon after Lewis. Hooper was there, with PC Chandra.

“Do we have an ID?” he demanded of Hooper, pushing past Chandra and the tape.

“Front desk has her passport, Australian. Proper Abo too, by the look of her...” What ever else Hooper was saying was blocked out by the rushing in his ears and the pounding in his head and he walked up to Hobson and looked past her...

Dear God.

Hobson was looking up at him, her lips were moving, she was speaking, but she was speaking gobbligook down a long tunnel.

“I can’t do this. Sorry.” He turned and walked fast out of the room, down the corridor, to get away, home, anywhere but here, anywhere but in that room.

“Sir! Sir!” Hooper was chasing him. He grabbed his arm. “You okay?”

“Can’t do this. Can’t. Sorry. Tell Innocent.”

“Sir, Grainger is stranded in Glasgow airport, he was at a family wedding. Laxton’s snowed in out East Hagbourne way, Ngoti and Mercer, or Ngoti and Ngoti now, they’re both stuck in Paris, can’t get home from their Honeymoon Sir.”

“Then Innocent will have to...” Lewis roared.

“Jean is stuck too, completely snowed in. The local farmer tried to get through with a plough and the tractor’s blocked the lane and then more snow fell and she is literally unable to get out of her house,” Laura said, touching his arm. “We have an ID, a Mrs Nadia Lewis?”

“She’s my daughter-in-law.”

“Sir, it’s either you lead or me and Madge, and there’s probably a reason why we are still DCs. Thick as shit, the pair of us.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself Alec,” Lewis said, calming down. “I’d better ring Innocent. This is not right.”

Ten minutes later he was back in the room. Hobson was now finishing up, and so was the photographer and SOCO had finished securing the scene. Innocent had been very sympathetic but insistent. Yes it was irregular, there was a definite conflict of interests, but there was nobody else with his seniority and experience able to get into Oxford. Besides, she trusted his judgement and impartiality.

Okay. He could do this. He had to. “Okay Laura, seems I’ve got no choice. Tell me how.”

Laura stood up and walked over to the door. She looked back at the body. “Molly’s Mum?”

“Yeah. Was. What have you got?”

“Throat’s been slit, but it gets worse. There’s no easy way to say this, Robbie. She was beaten up, tied up and cigarettes have been stubbed out on her arms. Arms were a mess anyway, she was a heroin user, wasn’t she?”

“Oh God,” Robbie moaned. He visibly pulled himself together under the sympathetic gaze of the collected Oxford officers. “Okay. Hooper, who reported it?”

“Night porter on front desk, Sir. After the husband was seen running out like a bat out of hell. And the neighbour had called down three times earlier to complain about the noise. Screaming and shouting and that. She saw someone run away, too.”

“Right, someone get me a coffee and bring it to me in the office downstairs, then I want the next door guest and then the night porter, right?”

 

*

“So, you looked out when you saw this man run down the corridor. Did he have blood on him? When was this? Immediately after the screaming and shouting had stopped?”

“Well, Inspector, I can tell you what he looked like. I hadn’t seen the people arrive, but he might have been the other one, or not, I simply don’t know.”

“Could you please tell...” Lewis sighed and pinched his nose. “Firstly, what time was the noise?”

“It started at about half past eleven, men’s voices...”

“Men, not man. More than one?”

“I’m not sure. Sorry. Then the girl started to scream, and then cry and then it was all low murmurs, like just talking, so I let it go that the noise had gone on. I’d phoned but they’d done nothing.”

“And this man, you say the noise had stopped?”

“Well, yeah, for about an hour or more. Then I heard another scream, a yell really, like a man in pain. I looked out of the door and he ran right past me. It sends a shiver down my spine. It was the murderer wasn’t it Inspector?”

“There’s no way of knowing yet. You got a good look at him?”

“He was a bit taller than you, skinny, like he was starving, unbrushed hair sticking up and a beard. He had blue eyes and he was... actually he looked at lot like you, only thirty years younger than you, maybe?”

Twenty-nine, actually, thought Lewis. Twenty-nine, just moved here. A son, eight pounds three ounces, up at the Radcliffe. Didn’t scream. Val was bloody knackered and they gave me a bottle to feed him while she slept. She’d had had hard time with him. Sat up all night by her bedside just holding him in my arms, waiting for his Mam to open her eyes. Twenty-nine and four months.

“Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

“Can I go Inspector?”

“Yeah, off you go,” Lewis said, taking a sip of his coffee, glad that Hooper had slipped a little brandy in it.

Brandy. God, the bloody brandy. That was his fault, what an example. This is how you deal with life’s shit; you get wasted. Mark had really paid attention to that lesson, hadn’t he?

The night porter confirmed he had seen the husband run out just before he’d found the body.

*

PC Dixon stopped the car and got out, approaching the shivering, huddled form. He bent down, grateful that at least this homeless man was alive. In the last three days he’d found four bodies, all homeless, all hypothermia. “You alright Sir?”

The man looked up with desperate eyes. He stank to high heaven, unwashed hair and clothes, straggly, ill kept beard.

“Come on mate. Churches have all opened their doors for all the homeless. We’ll drive you to St. Giles, okay? You can get warmed up. Come on mate.”

Grateful for someone to tell him what to do, Mark allowed himself to be helped into the squad car and driven to a church hall where a bossy lady in tweeds forced him to drink soup and tea and wrapped him a blanket before leading him to a blow up bed and sleeping bag. He slept because the bossy lady told him too.

*

James woke up to the sounds of screaming. It was Molly, lying in her own vomit and diarrhoea. Her nose and eyes were red and she again had a temperature. It was just after seven in the morning. Zonked, he picked her up and stumbled into the bathroom and ran a bath, stripping them both and getting in with her. It seemed the easiest thing to do. He then got them both into clean pyjamas and climbed back into bed, hugging her tightly as she wouldn’t stop screaming. It was just like the day she arrived.

Finally they both fell asleep. He was awoken to Robbie shouting at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he was screaming, if James wanted a word, hysterical would have done, but Robbie Lewis didn’t get hysterical. “The social worker is coming and the flat is a fucking pig sty. Get up. Get the fuck up!”

“Robbie, I...”

“Get up now.”

James stumbled out of the bed and stared, wounded and confused, at Robbie Lewis. “What is going on?”

“Nadia’s dead and if we don’t prove how well we are doing right now she is going into temporary care. Now James. Sort it.”

“Why are you having a go at me, why don’t you...?”

“It’s the deal, James, you wanted to look after her, you persuaded me, against my better judgement to look at her, to love her, to need her. And I need you, now.”

James hastily started stripping Molly’s cot and gathered up all the washing. Once the machine was loaded he rushed back to make up the cot with clean sheets and put Molly in it. She didn’t wake up, she was too used to parents screaming at each other for it to bother her. He started to strip their bed, but Robbie stopped him.

“Not yet. I’m going to have you first.”

“Robbie?”

“My daughter-in-law has been murdered by my fucking son and I’m the only senior CID officer in Oxford so I have to arrest my own bloody son and you are so going to give me some comfort, right now!” He pushed James face down on the bed and reached over him to his side of the bed and grabbed the lube.

“Robbie, you’re scaring me! I ... I... Please, don’t hurt me...”

Robbie rolled James over on his back and stared at him, tears suddenly springing in his eyes. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry pet, I’m sorry James.” He collapsed on top of James, who just put his arms around him and stroked his hair.

“S’sh. S’sh. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Are you sure he did it?”

“No, at least how do I know it’s just me clutching at straws?”

“Let me make you a cup of tea and you tell me what you’ve got in the way of evidence and suspicions.”

Lewis gave him a quick summery, stopping him making the tea. James frowned, deep in thought. “So there was a gap in time between the earlier noises and the one yell before Mark ran. He could have just come back and found her and did a runner. Seems like him, wouldn’t you say?”

Lewis sighed with relief. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, I thought so but I can’t trust my own judgement on this.” He cupped James chin and kissed him. James held Robbie’s head and kissed back passionately and rolled back, pulling Robbie on top of him. He parted his legs and held Robbie tightly with his thighs. They kissed for sometime.

“If you still want me you can have me,” James whispered. “I know you won’t hurt me now.”

*  
Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms, James occasionally saying it would be okay, Robbie saying he had to go. He’d left Hooper and uniform to get statements from all the hotel guests and staff. Eventually he pulled himself together and sat up.

“Right. Going back to work pet.”

“What time is this Nicola Wing coming?”

“Half ten, and it’s her and the assessing one too, sorry pet. They are coming to see me at work and some point, but I’ve got them co-ordinating with DS Ramsy for a meet up. They appreciate I’m busy, but I hope they can tell the difference between the exceptional circumstances of this snow and being short staffed and the usual.”

James’ snort said he doubted it. He went to the door and helped his boyfriend pile on jumper, coat, scarf, gloves, hat and wellies and kissed him deeply on the doorstep. He heard giggles as they broke apart. The neighbour’s kids were watching. He smiled sheepishly at them as he watched Robbie sadly walk down the corridor. After he was on his own James washed up the supper things, scrubbed the kitchen, put all the toys into he playpen, Hoovered and dusted and had just enough time to wash, shave, brush his teeth and pull on jeans and two tee shirts and an old red cardigan of Robbie’s and a scarf before the social workers came.

He made them coffee and left them as Molly woke up on cue, to the rescue. He reported her progress (and regress) regards the cold turkey and how he was coping (‘fine, tired, but that was normal, wasn’t it’). They told him they were arranging for an independent assessment of his psychological state of mind. Bravely, having figured out where 90% of their information came from, he asked if it has occurred to them that a Catholic Seminary would have an ulterior motive regards information to support a gay adoption?

They left; having explained that the death of the one parent and the disappearance of the other meant their wishes would no longer be taken into account. James pointed out Mark’s wishes had already been minuted and he smiled at them, a smile that said I’ve checked the legal rights on line and bring on your psychiatrists, I know I’m fine.

*

That afternoon James took Molly to the doctor’s, having finally got an appointment. Dr. McKay agreed with Hobson and Lyn’s diagnosis and prescribed soya formula for a month. He also prescribed sachets of rehydrating powder to mix with boiled water and cool and told James to keep on with the rice porridge and rusks, and told him he was doing fine, and he would say so to those social workers. In his entire career he had not come across such ignorance. In the meantime he probably had a few more days of Molly being under the weather and then she would pick up and then it was a matter of monitoring her development. She’s bright, though, James argued, wanting to point out she knew the biggest stacking cup went at the bottom of the tower and that the sound had come from his guitar not him.

James felt a bit happier, although he was terrified for Robbie Lewis. He stopped off at a local corner shop run by an Asian family and bought minced lamb and more potatoes and a big box of tea and a bag of sugar, he felt Robbie had need, and sweet tea was better than brandy. As he approached the block of flats someone stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of him.

“Dah!” squealed Molly.

“Hey Molly. James. Can I come in?”

“Um?”

Mark lifted his jacket to show he was holding a gun under it.

“I think you’d better.”

Once they were in the living room Mark demanded, “Where is it?” He picked up the new car seat and threw it across the room. Molly began to scream. James took off his coat but left the sling on.

“The car seat? It’s with forensics I’m afraid. I found the extra padding, you understand. Why don’t you put that gun down and I’ll phone your Dad?”

“No!”

“Okay. Fine. At least let me put Molly in her cot.”

“She’s screaming again. She always screams you know?”

“Not always. May I? Please?”

“I didn’t kill her, you know? I loved her. My Nads. It was me and her against the world. Her Mam didn’t want her, was a tart – like you James. My Mam’s dead and my Dad didn’t wanna know me. I didn’t kill her! I didn’t! But I need that fucking smack. Now!” He pulled the gun out of his jacket and pointed at James. James barely flinched.

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to. Please let me put Molly down.”

Mark waved the gun. “Okay. Okay. Go on.” He followed James down the corridor to the bedroom and followed him in. As James put Molly down, telling her to be good, James would keep her safe, not to worry, Mark was looking at the bed, the quilt kicked on the floor, the tube of KY on the bed, the pillow in the middle of the bed stained with semen, the pile of used baby wipes obviously used to clean up after sex.

“Tell me!” he screamed, grabbing James, still bent over the cot, by the hair. “Tell me it’s you who takes! Tell me my Dad is still a fucking man! Tell me!” He smashed James’ face into the side of the cot. Molly’s screaming grew louder. Mark released James and kicked him. James stood up, stumbling, and moved quickly away from the cot. Mark span around and punched him in the stomach. “Tell me!” he yelled again.

“If you give me a chance!” James tried to yell back but his voice was shaky and breathless. “What do you want to know, eh? Does your Dad fuck me or the other way around? Is that it? Why should I tell you? What we do is our business,” James hissed, angry and in pain.

“Tell me!” Mark yelled again, slapping James on the side of his head.

“Okay, fine. Of course your Dad gives, and of course I take And I love him, alright? He loves me, too, and why can’t you be happy for him? He’s been so alone since your mother died.”

“My Mam was brilliant, you’ve converted him gay. You fucking slut. Tart as a kid and coming back for more old cock, eh? Fucking shit! My Dad is so not fucking gay, alright, he does not love you, he just loves pumping your slutty tight arse. Alright you fucking poof? Alright?”

Mark’s hand holding the gun swung back in an arch and before James could register what was to happen the gun butt connected with the side of his head. He saw a bright flash before everything went dark...

*

Lewis and Hooper got out of the Land Rover and walked up to St. Giles. They were met by PC Dixon, who apologised for not making the connection earlier and they went in to speak to the volunteers about Mark Lewis and his mysterious visitors. He had left just over an hour ago, it seemed, just before his friends turned up looking for him.

*

James could hear screaming. He opened his eyes to blinding light and a thumping headache. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed Molly, hugging her tightly and sat heavily down on the bed. Molly’s screaming subsided to a whimper and James was alarmed to realise she wasn’t the only one who was whimpering. Mark was crazy; he could have hurt his own daughter. He didn’t deserve her. If Robbie wanted to adopt, if Robbie wanted him to give up his career as a stay at home parent then fine. Anything to keep Molly safe from that man! His Dad beat him, but only if he’d been disobedient, and never as a baby. Oh God, poor Robbie, blaming himself for that bastard’s behaviour.

Robbie.

Woozily, James pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and hit Robbie’s key. “Sir?”

“James? Are you alright?”

“Mark was here Sir. He came looking for the smack. He has a gun, he has... Oh!”

“James?”

“Just realised I’m bleeding. Oh sorry Molly, that was my favourite dress. James will buy you a new one. S’sh. S’sh. Grandpa’s coming now.”

“James, love? James?”

“Gotta go Sir.”

“James?!” Lewis looked at the phone. James had hung up. “Blast!”

Hooper walked up to him. “Sir?”

“Come on, we’ve got to get to my flat, fast. Our prime suspect has just been sighted there. You drive.”

“Sir!”

*

Holding Molly James stumbled to the door and was roughly shoved back. “Who are you?” he asked, alarmed. He’d been expecting Robbie, although why when he’d just hung up he couldn’t explain.

*

Robbie opened the door to the sounds of Molly’s screams. He ran through the flat, looking for her. The place was torn part; drawers upended, sofa upside down and ripped up, cupboards and kitchen drawers emptied, playpen on end. He found her in the bathroom, sitting in the bath.

“Sir! Sir!” he heard Hooper call, and he ran back down the flat to the bedroom.

It was hard to take in. If seeing Nadia had been a shock, nothing on Earth had prepared him for this. His blond hair was red, red with blood. He lay twisted at a strange angle, his arm bent back underneath him. He could hardly register Hooper’s fingers on his neck, his other hand on his phone.

“Ambulance, now, and assistance. Emergency. Lewis’ place. We need SOCO. Now.” Hooper looked up at Lewis. “He’s alive Sir. Alive. Looks worse than it is.” Not knowing what else to do, having not a clue, Hooper took Molly from Lewis and guided him to sit down on the bed. He left to await the ambulance, leaving his boss to put his head down in his hands and weep.


	7. Interlude one: Fairies and Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is joint written with babyklingon, absolutely the most favourist thing of hers.
> 
> James is 12, it his last day at Crevecoeur.

Twelve years old James walked slowly down the Chase from the Summerhouse, limping with pain and clutching a copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, a parting gift from His Lordship. He had told James he loved him but he could no longer carry his father, the drunken old sot, especially since his beloved James was away at school for most of the year. Not that he wasn’t proud of him, of course he was. James was so bright, so special. James doubted it. He’d already gathered last night when he got back for the summer than Paul had begun to learn the piano again. Paul’s Mum had been so proud, His Lordship giving Paul another chance now he was older. Paul shook his head and said, stuttering his words, he was crap at it and his Lordship would get rid of him again. His Mum smiled happily and told James His Lordship wanted to help Paul with his homework, wasn’t that nice? Soon he’d be as clever as him. Paul shook his head behind his Mum’s head.

Now James had finally got back to his house. The white van his Dad had borrowed already was half full of boxes and furniture. “Alright Sweetpea?” his Dad asked cheerfully, strangely cheerful considering he’d been sacked and they were about to be homeless. He shoved the chest of drawers in the van and came up to James. “What’s that you got there sweetheart?” He stank of cheap Scotch. James took a step back.

“A book. Augustus gave me a book.”

“Augustus, is it? Miss him, will ya? All those sessions up in the Summerhouse, all those things he learnt ya?”

No, thought James and ignored his Dad and went upstairs. His Mum was in the living room wrapping her collection of china ornaments in newspaper and weeping silently.

In his bedroom doorway he let out an anguished roar and threw himself on the piles and piles of black bin bags that was all that was in his room. He started ripping and pulling out toys and books and clothes and tapes

“Panda! Panda!” he screamed over and over again, pulling more and more out of the ripped bags. He was finding it hard to breathe.

Suddenly his Mum was there, holding him, stroking his hair, shushing him, reassuring him. She led him to his parents’ room and unzipped his travel bag, packed with clothes and Panda sitting on the top. He snatched Panda and hugged him tight, closing his eyes, pressing Panda to his face. Panda received the message about it happening again and sent understanding, loving vibes back.

“What’s all the fuckin’ noise?” His Dad was stomping up the stairs. He let out a long litany of swear words when he saw the state of James’ room. “Where is he? The little fucker. I’ll take my belt to him, the little shit.” He stormed into his bedroom and grabbed James by the arm, unbuckling his belt with his other hand.

“You can’t!” his mother screamed. “Joe! No! He’s been with His Lordship. You can’t!”

James’ Dad pushed him face down on the bed and started to take off his belt.

“I won’t let you!” his Mum shouted and threw herself on top of him. His Dad grabbed his Mum and pulled her away but something calmed his Dad down, as so often did. These moods blew up and cooled down so quickly.

“Alright, coz of His Lordship then,” his Dad sounded sick, fed up and sick.

Slowly, as if dealing with a wild animal James pushed himself up and turned around. He asked, politely, “Why are all my things in bin bags Dad?”

“We’re going to my brother’s, yeah, your Mum and me will be in the back room and you’ll be sharing with your cousin. We can’t afford storage, boy. We can’t keep nothing. Sorry Sweetpea.”

“Nothing at all?” James’ bottom lip trembled and he looked up at his Dad with big blue eyes, looking for all the world like his mother. Joe thought back to what his son had just had done to him. He stormed out in huff but returned a few moments late with a small box, just over a metre squared, and a shoebox.

“Favourite toys in the shoebox, favourite books and music in the bigger one. That’s your lot Jamie; the rest goes. And don’t think you’re coming out of that room until you’ve cleared it all back in the bags and cleaned the room too, save your poor Mum a job.”

An hour later James sat surrounded by things, piles of things he could bear to be parted from (small), things he had to absolutely have (too much for one shoebox and one small box and a middle pile of not sure about. His Mum knocked on the door and opened in.

“Paul’s here.”

“T...t...to say g...g...goodbye.”

“Thanks Mum.”

“Do you want some Coke or something?”

“N...n...n...” Paul gave up and shook his head.

“Yes please Mum,” James said, still with the taste of Augustus in his mouth.

“I wasn’t offering you, cheeky.” He looked up at her with appealing eyes. “Oh, alright then. Sure Paul?”

“M...Mum doesn’t l...l...l...”

“Some juice then? Apple? Orange?”

Paul shrugged.

“I’ll surprise you.”

“Your stutter is worse! Far worse!” James said, appalled. He’d managed to get to stay with his new friend Will over Easter so he hadn’t seen Paul since Christmas. He felt faintly guilty, like it was his fault.

“Okay with you, I...I th...think. What are you... doing?”

“Dad is making me get rid of all of it, everything. I can chose my favourites for here.” He picked up the shoebox. “And I can’t decide!” he wailed.

Paul began to pick up James’ collection of fantasy gaming figures and place then in the box. He shrugged. James picked up the Matchbox car Paul had given him for Christmas and put it in. Paul held up a couple of knights. James sighed and shook his head, and then looked at the piles and piles of books, his tapes, the motley collection of toys, most of which he was far too elderly for at nearly twelve and three quarters, but they were his life. He had loved them. He picked up the wooden spinning top his Grandpa had made him the year before he had died. It went in the box. Nothing else would fit. He looked down, despairing. This was his life. Suddenly Paul had put his hand under his chin and lifted his head up. They looked at each other a few moments and then Paul carefully pressed his mouth to James’. James opened his mouth slightly in shock and Paul tentatively took the opportunity to flick his tongue in. It felt good. Nice. He put his hands to Paul’s face and kissed back and Paul put his hand to the back of James’ head. They both knew what they were doing; they’d both had lessons in the same place, from the same man. But this was not disgusting, frightening or dirty. This was magic.

Somewhere at the back of his mind James registered the door click, but still he didn’t pull away.

When they finally broke apart Paul was blushing. He looked away. “Sorry. You looked so sad,” he said without a single stutter.

“I’ll miss you Paul. Please, take what you want. Anything. Look after it for me. Oh!” James noticed the tray with the glass of juice, one of Coke and a plate of rich tea biscuits by the door. He fetched the tray. “You don’t think she saw do you?” Paul looked aghast and was all for running home. James managed to persuade him to stay.

However, Paul was half was through helping James cram as many books as possible into the metre squared box when James’ father smashed the door open, stormed across the room and grabbed Paul by the arm and, hauling him to his feet, propelled him out of the house coupled with a long string of swear words and homophobic insults. James tried to follow but his bedroom door was slammed in his face and the door locked from the outside. James yelled for Paul, tugging at the door handle and banging on the door.

A few moments later his Dad returned, belt in his hand. James began to back away. This time his Mum didn’t protect him.

Afterwards his father shoved duster, Hoover, cleaning cloths, polish and spray as well as new bin bags in the room and told him to sort it. Then, picking up the box of books and the shoebox of toys, he left, telling James to feel lucky he was nice; he was still allowing James to keep this shit.

As soon as he was alone James curled up on his side, clutching is knees to his chest, his eyes burned with unshed tears, but he wouldn’t cry. He never cried, not for his Dad, not for Augustus. He wanted Panda, but he was next door.

Eventually, knowing there was no comfort coming from anywhere and no choice but to obey, James started cleaning, sorting and packing. He found his old primary school bag and PE kit and looked at them thoughtfully. Before he could stop himself, he stuffed all his Tolkien and Susan Cooper in the school bag and topped them with as many as his favourite stuffed toys as he could manage, squashing the knights in the front pocket. He squeezed his favourite picture books from early childhood into the PE bag with the rest of the cars – he wasn’t bothered, it was his Dad trying to get him to be the little boy he’d dreamed of – but Paul loved cars, he had a huge garage and Scalextric set, the works.

Focused, James put everything else in the bin bags, kissing each toy and once the bags were knotted recited what he could remember of the funeral service. He put the rucksack and drawstring bag on the windowsill, the bin bags by the door, to block it more than anything then dusted, vacuumed and finally cleaned the windows, leaving them open.

Hanging out of the window, James lowered the bags as far as he could and dropped them, before grabbing hold of the branch, and for the last time, climbed out of his bedroom window. Once on the ground he grabbed the bags and struck of, creeping round the barns and ran through the wood, the long way to the Gatehouse. Paul saw him from his bedroom window and ran to meet him.

Puffed and too stressed to anything than stutter, Paul wrote down with a stick in the dust of the scrub, ‘Your Dad told my Mum. You’re dead if she sees us.’

James, also puffed out and also in screaming pain from buckle welts on his backside and other, more interior, pain from a morning in the Summerhouse, just nodded and held out the bags.

Paul nodded and then threw his arms around James, who put his head on Paul’s shoulder. Paul had two loving, if ignorant, parents and knew all about comforting. He held James and stroked his hair.

“Cr..cr...cry,” he instructed, but James shook his head against his shoulder.

“Not for him.” He pulled away and looked embarrassed. “What we did is a sin,” he said.

“F...f...fuck that!” Paul said and held James’ face and kissed him again. He pulled away. “B...bye.” He picked up the bags and turned back to his house.

“Look after them,” James called. “Especially my dog, he’s called Scruffy, and he was my second favourite when I was little.”

Paul turned and nodded, then grinned and waved and ran off. Once he was out of sight James turned and leant on a tree, letting out a loud groan. His Dad had never used the buckle end before. He leant his head against the tree and started banging it against the bark, the pain and interesting texture taking his mind off the very frightening fact his could feel blood in his jeans. He didn’t even know who made him bleed.

Half and hour later James was returning home, across the grounds, normally out of bounds for staff and tenants and their children but James was past caring, it was the quickest way.

“James! James!” he heard his name squealed. “I knew you would come to say goodbye. I knew it. You’re looking for me, aren’t you.”

Scarlett. Great. She’d been riding, still in her jogpurs and boots. “Hello Scarlett,” he said slightly nervously, the corners of his mouth twitching in an ironic smile.

“Oh I knew you wouldn’t go without saying goodbye darling!” She threw her arms around him.

“Bye Scarlett. Gotta go now. I snuck out, I have to get back...”

“In a minute, darling. I have an idea.”

Great: an idea. For the past eight years Scarlett’s ideas involved her involved in general naughtiness and he getting the blame. Mutely, from years of practice, he allowed her to take his hand and tow him to the fountain. She produced two pennies.

“We’re going to wish now. I’m going to wish for you come back after you’ve finished school a gentleman with lots of money and marry me. And so are you.”

“What if I don’t...”

“I’m going to cry. I can’t bear you going away and now you won’t wish that we will be together forever. I’m going to cry and cry and cry...”

James snatched a penny and threw it in the fountain.

“Say it then.”

“Wishes are private, Scarlett. You must wish in your head otherwise it won’t work. You have to change your wish a tiny bit to make it work now and keep it secret.”

“Of course darling.” She threw her penny in and then turned and grabbed him by his ears and pulled his head down to snog him.

Now that was disgusting. He pulled his head away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“James!”

“Sorry.”

“Bet that was your first kiss, wasn’t it? Let’s try again.”

“No thanks, I really have to go...”

“I’ll scream. I’ll say you made me!” She took a deep breath.

Sighing, James bent his head and kissed her gently. “Bye Scarlett. Have a nice life.” He turned and ran down the hill, past the lake and home. As he ran he thought about his wish and apologised to God in case wishes were witchcraft or idol worship or something. He turned his wish into a prayer,

“Please Lord, I don’t ever want to come back here again, ever. I don’t want my Dad to take his belt to me again and I never, ever want to see Augustus or have to do any of that again!”

A sudden sob erupted from nowhere and James had to hold his mouth to contain it. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said to God as he tried stop the sob, terrified as his subconscious had added, “Except if you change your mind Lord and I’m an adult and in love.”

“James?”

James looked up to see his Mum walking towards him from the barns.

“Quick, get back up to your room. Your Dad is ready to leave. Thank God I collected the rubbish.”

“They weren’t rubbish Mum, they were my life!” James let out an anguished cry.

“I know darling boy, I know. I’ve had let go too. He’s sold all he could, and just come back with the van empty. The rest went to charity shops, okay? Someone will buy and love your toys.”

James nodded and ran around to his bedroom window to begin the painful climb up his apple tree. Except it wasn’t his anything, and he would never wake to the scent of blossom and know spring was on the way, or reach out to help himself to apples in the autumn and know school was about to begin.

The van belonged to his uncle, which was where they were now going: Faringdon, where his Dad’s family all lived, one big, rambling, confusing, working class Catholic family, all thick as shit and resentful of his schooling. He was sharing a room with his cousin but he couldn’t place her, which one was she? His Dad had loads of brothers and sisters and they all had hundreds of noisy kids. Or that was how it always seemed to James at yet another family Christening or Wedding.

As they drove past the Gatehouse Paul came out and waved, chasing the car as James’ Dad accelerated away.

*

Hours later and James was still numb. He sat in a corner of the back room on a squashy old chair, hugging his knees. This was the only living room, his Aunt was in the front room, it was her bedroom. She had some terrifying disease that made her more and more unable to do things. James had to go and say hello to her. She was sat up in bed looking like a living skeleton, her face showing the pain and frustration. Her room had the only TV in the house. He had politely shook her hand, it had felt like dried up Autumn leaves. He didn’t recognise her, or his Uncle. Of his cousin there was no sign. She was like him, an only child. A weirdity in a Catholic family. He could see why she was, her Mum would have got ill after she was born and they wouldn’t have been able to do it. James never could work out why he was an only child, unless his parents committed mortal sin. They certainly did it, noisily. It was horribly embarrassing and one of the best things about being at school was not having to listen to them row and then listen to them make up. Ugh!

His Dad and his Uncle talked about his Dad finding work on local farms and his Mum started drawing up plans for spring cleaning the house and helping his Aunt. She had already cleaned the kitchen and got a casserole in the oven, along with an apple pie and a date and walnut cake. His mother never ‘wasted’ the oven to cook one thing.

The door banged and footsteps ran up the stairs.

“Martha?” his Uncle called. “Come and say hello to Auntie Rose and Uncle Joe and your cousin. You’ll be sharing your room with him.”

“A boy. You never said it was a boy!” A girl of about ten or eleven walked into the room, dressed in a torn short pink dress over purple leggings and dirty, old ballet shoes on her feet. She had pink, glittery fairy wings on along with a crown made of a daisy chain. “Oh, it’s not fair!” she erupted. “Now Georgia is going to Butlins and Cat is off to Ireland for the whole summer. Jade is already in Greece and Paula’s going camping in Wales. Why can’t we have a holiday? Let them stay and look after Mum and we could go, couldn’t we? I’ve never had a holiday. Da-aad!”

“Sorry,” her dad apologised, grimacing. “Say hello Martha. That was rude. Show James your bedroom and then wash your hands. Teas nearly ready.”

Martha glared at him. Blonde curly hair and blue eyes in a skinny frame; she could have been his sister. From the look in her eyes she was thinking the same thing. As she’d not been to any of the family gatherings he’d never met her. If his Dad was the dark grey sheep of the family with his drinking and gambling and marrying the non Catholic Rose, Uncle Jon was the blackest of black sheep. James didn’t know why though.

Another two hours went by. Martha began to warm to his mother, if not him, purely on the strength of the food. James had always taken his mother’s cooking for granted, but he supposed that if your Mum was ill and disabled and your Dad a weird, straggly long haired vegetarian hippie you might not know what real food tasted like. Although, he wasn’t that impressed with the lack of meat. It was the same herbs as the chicken and lentil thing his Mum had always done, just no chicken. He was shocked when, just before they were sent to bed, his Uncle started to make a very large cigarette that he realised was not just tobacco.

“Does your Dad smoke cannabis?” he asked, shocked.

Martha shrugged. “Bagsy bathroom first,” she said, running up the stairs, giggling, pushing him back.

James came out of the bathroom in his pyjamas, teeth brushed, a little apprehensive about sleeping in Martha’s very pink, girly room. A blow up bed and a sleeping bag had been put the other side of the room to her bed, and his suitcase, travel bag and the box of books and the shoebox of toys had been put next to the wall and then the sleeping bag next to them. He came in to find Martha sitting on his bed, all his gaming figures ranged out on the sleeping bag.

“They are mine! Put them back!”

“Wow. They’re beautiful, you have lovely fairies.” She sounded wistful and jealous. Hand drawn pictures couple with magazine pictures and one expensive picture of fairies covered the room, and a small shelf above the bed was full of plastic and china fairies, more in front of her small bookcase. James didn’t notice any of this. He was too outraged.

“They are elves,” he corrected firmly, throwing himself on the bed and beginning to put them carefully and reverently away. He’d set off vibrations on the blow up bed that had knocked over the small elvish folk and made Martha giggle. “Get off my bed and leave my things alone.”

“Is that all the toys you’ve got? Some small cute fairies? I didn’t know boys liked fairies.”

“They are elves! Get off my bed!”

Martha got up, and climbed into her own bed, gathering up a collection of fluffy stuffed animals and rag dolls and tucking them all carefully in her bed around her, in order. “No they are not, they have wings, some of them. And some of them are girls.”

Having finished putting them carefully away James wriggled into the sleeping bag and stuffed Panda in with him. “They are elves.”

“No they’re not. Is that all you’ve got, then? Some fairies, one car and a Panda and a wooden thing.”

“It’s not a thing, it’s a spinning top. My Grandpa made it before he died. And my dad made me get rid of everything. And they are elves! They are proper fantasy war-gaming figures. They are elves!”

“Oh! Oh! How horrid. Poor, poor James. Are your fairies your favourites, then? Out of all of your boy toys you chose fairies? Wow! We could be twins. I love fairies.”

“I said they are elves, not fucking fairies!”

“You swore. And I’m not blind. They’re fairies.”

“Elves. They are elves.”

“They are fairies.”

“They are my toys and I say they are elves.”

“Aha! You said toys not poncy gaming figures. And they are fairies.”

“Elves!”

“Fairies!”

This then went on for sometime, by which time Martha was so animated she was out of bed, jumping on her bed, yelling at the top of her voice, “Fairies! Fairies! Fairies!”

James stood up and yelled back. “They are elves. Elves!”

Martha jumped from her bed to he blow up one and bounced along it to James, “Fairies!” Bounce. “Fairies!” Bounce. “Fairies!” Bounce. “Fairies!” as she bounced of the bed and stood before James who pulled himself up to his full height and looked down on her and yelled,

“They are bloody fucking elves!”

Martha flinched a bit and ran to her own bed, saying, “You swore!”

“So fucking what? They are elves!”

“Fairies!”

“Elves!”

This went on until they heard Martha’s father call up the stairs, “Chill out kids. Chill. Get in bed, babies, and try to sleep.”

Martha switched the light off and whispered, “Fairies.”

“They are elves,” James hissed back.

“Faires.”

And so it began again until Martha was jumping on her bed again, yelling at the top of her voice. She leapt on to James’ bed again, landing on him, curled up with Panda. He yelled in pain and stood up again, towering over her, his eyes gleaming madly in the light of the streetlight outside Martha’s window.

“They are fucking, pissing elves so shut the fuck up and leave me alone. They are not fucking fairies!”

“You swore! You swore lots! James, you will be in so much...”

Just then James’ father roared up the stairs, “You fucking little bastards shut the fuck up. If I hear another fucking word from you fucking little bitching brats I’m coming to tan your backsides!”

Martha stood, terrified, having never heard anyone yell like that, let alone an adult at children. She began to shake and whimper. “Your... your Dad is so scary,” she whispered.

“Yes. Yes he is,” James agreed, putting his arm around her and leading her back to bed.

“I hope my Mummy didn’t hear. She has medicine to make her sleep so she wouldn’t would she?”

“No,” said James. He sat on the bed beside her as she snuggled in the tiny space her toys left her.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“I s’pose.”

“My Mummy is dying.”

“Oh,” James said, horrified.

“Now it’s your turn. Tell me a secret.”

“I don’t have any,” James said, and then grinned. “I really don’t have any, not any more!” He snorted happily. “I’m free!”

*

Over the coming weeks Martha and James reached first a truce, then an understanding, then a deep friendship. Martha was hardly allowed to see her Mum as she grew daily and weekly worse and James never saw his as she was nursing and caring for her sister-in-law.

Most of the time, mindful of how she was scared, James just went along with Martha’s wishes, even wearing fairy wings too and playing in the woods at the back of the housing estate at the edge of the village. They climbed trees, made camps and talked. James talked about religion and heaven a lot, as Martha didn’t seem to be a Catholic, despite the family background. Both her parents were lapsed, had been in the hippie trail and had been Hindu, Buddhist and Pagan in their time and all three had rubbed off on Martha who wanted her Mum to come back as a fairy.

James confided in her about Augustus, and which Martha showed both shock and a vicarious interest. He educated her into proper fantasy rather than twee, girly fairy fiction. Most nights he ended up in her bed reading to her until she fell asleep. Sometimes he woke to her wriggling into the sleeping bag, especially if her Mum had got so bad that she’d been rushed back to hospital or the ambulance had come out and checked her over. Also, however, sometimes when he awoke to her skinny, bony little form wriggling in next to him he found his face wet with tears and she told him he’d been yelling out loud again, reliving the Summerhouse.

The fairies/elves debate raged all summer, inside and out, especially at bedtime, but often sitting on tree branches in the woods. Martha would get particularly indignant in the woods, home to fairies, and told him they would drop dead. James, offended, told her he never said he didn’t believe them or dislike them, just didn’t own any. He began proper medieval and pagan fairy stories at bedtimes.

One day, sneaking back in to steal some of James’ Mum’s homemade jam buns they overheard the doctor tell Martha’s Dad and James’ Mum that they were in the end days, it was a matter of days, weeks at the most. Martha ran out into the wood, running and running and running, deeper and deeper. James ran after her, further and further away from their usual area, still in Martha’s spare wings and a crown of flowers. He found her in a hollow of a holly bush, sobbing her heart out. He couldn’t fit in the gap so stayed outside, pleading with her. Suddenly he heard a voice behind him.

“What have we got here? A fairy boy? What you doing near our camp, fairy boy?”

He stood up and turned round. Behind him Martha crawled out and stood up beside him, whispering they were the Davis boys and their mates Patrick and Josh. She advised running, so they did, back up the hill to Martha’s estate as fast as they could, struggling more and more to breathe. Screaming, Martha began to climb a tree, encouraging James to follow, but his foot slipped and he was grabbed.

Martha screamed, and tried to make a break for it to get help but all she could do was watch her cousin beaten up, four on one, heavier older boys on one twelve years old boy only wearing the wings to make her happy.

James face impacted on a rock and blood spurted, a lot of blood, some from his forehead and a lot from his chin where a sharp flint had dug into his face. He felt nothing, as he impacted on stone and flint all he saw was a flash of bright light followed by deep blackness.

Martha screamed some more and the boys panicked and ran. She couldn’t wake him up.


	8. Lewis' worst arrest of his career

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wakes up in hospital, Lewis arrests the prime suspect in the murder and assault, Hobson is just too busy.
> 
> Now, all of these are made up for my daughter, over the last two years, as you will know if you read my profile. However, thre is one scene in this chapter that is entirely ilovewales' fault!

Robbie held Molly tight, reflecting that here he was, yet again, in hospital waiting for James to wake up. He was also waiting for James’ cousin and Molly’s social worker to arrive. He prayed Martha would get here first. He was acutely aware he needed to be back at work. James had been hit twice on the head, once on the temple with a blunt object, cutting his forehead, and the second time at the back of his head. It was just a question of waiting for him to wake up, the nurse reassured him, telling him the human skull could take quite a pounding. It the meantime, his shoulder had been dislocated and his left wrist was broken on both bones, radius and ulna, both of which had been set to right, although his wrist was in a temporary, old fashioned plaster of Paris cast.

Molly had stopped crying in the ambulance, which had taken forever to arrive. Of course it was the snow, and James was lucky, Summertown was not far from the John Radcliffe and both Headley Way and Marston Ferry Road had been gritted. Even so, they had had to wait over twenty minutes. Hooper had taken the keys to the Land Rover and been left in charge of SOCO. Lewis suspected that not only would the team do as they should, he’d get home to a clean and ordered flat. No one liked an officer down, even one on leave, even one who was now, suddenly, known by everyone at the nick to be his lover and to be caring for his granddaughter. He could imagine that gossip was flying through the airwaves faster than light.

*

James was falling, falling into blackness and then someone was kicking him and screaming at him, no a baby was screaming and screaming but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe and they were talking Russian, shouting in Russian and Augustus was angry, he’d been sick on the chaise lounge and Molly was screaming and someone was hitting him and he was falling and falling and falling into a bright light and he could hear things, things outside his head: someone was yelling out in pain, someone else was calling in a frail, elderly voice for a nurse and he could hear a mumbled conversation somewhere about a broken hip and the need to operate. He heard the sounds of people walking by, people talking. It was if his ears were assaulted from a muffled rushing of blood into his ears to a wall of sound, possibly everybody in the Universe. The light was so intense he flinched at it and snapped his eyes open to locate its source.

Robbie Lewis was looking at him, Molly asleep over his shoulder. Where was he? What had happened? He tried to sit up but an excruciating pain radiated down his left arm. He tried to lift it but it was so heavy. He head was pounding and his vision was blurred. He wanted to be sick.

“Steady James. You’ve been unconscious.”

“Sir?”

“It’s Robbie, remember?”

James tried to grin, “I do remember Sir. Robbie. What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that. Who did this to you? It wasn’t...”

“Inspector! I thought you were here as Mr. Hathaway’s partner, not a policeman,” said an angry Scottish voice from behind him. It was the nurse that had attended them ever since they had arrived at Major Trauma in A&E.

“I am.”

“Well, now Mr. Hathaway is awake the doctor will want to run a few tests. So if you mind,” she went on. “You really need to find someone to take the baby.”

“James’ cousin is on her way, she’s as close as his sister.”

“Fine, now if you don’t mind going out to the waiting room, someone will call you.”

“I do need to take a statement too,” Robbie insisted.

“When the doctor says it’s okay, and not before.”

“Okay, I’m going.”

It was in the waiting room Martha found him, a daughter holding each hand, quiet and solemn for once. Silently Martha put her arms around Robbie, making sure not to squash Molly, who was strangely quiet even though she was awake.

“How is he?”

“He’s just woken up.”

“He’ll be fine. When he was mashed into some rocks I thought he was dead but he was fine. When Dad carried him home and drove us to the hospital they were more bothered by the cut on the chin that the bash on the skull, even though he was out for ages.”

“Cut on chin? Ah. This is something I am desperate to know, but another time, unfortunately.”

“He had to have stitches. It was all my fault, if I... he’ll be fine, he has a tough head.”

“Aye, I’ve been told that about myself.”

“He will be fine. Shall I take Molly now?”

“We have to wait for her social worker.”

“Fine.” She sat down heavily and took Molly from Robbie. “Come to Auntie Martha baby. Let your Dad go back to Daddy.”

“I’m her Grandpa, I...”

Martha stared at him. “Biologically, but aren’t you pushing to adopt?”

“Yeah, but...” Robbie shrugged. “Okay, it’ll do. I had wondered...”

Lewis went outside and called Hooper to pick him up, telling him James was awake. He was about to go back inside when he saw the slender young figure of Nicola Wing approach.

“Hi there. It is Robert Lewis?”

“Yeah. You’re Molly’s social worker. I thought Sue Seinfold would be here.”

“She’s an assessing social worker, they’re finished, really. Whatever you have heard from James, Mark’s wishes were for you to adopt and as the mother is now deceased and the father wishes you to adopt, if you still do, you can. We will fast track proper paperwork and channels as soon as this crisis is over. I thought you needed to know that before we discuss temporary arrangements because obviously you need to get back to work.”

“What about James’ psych profile?”

“Irrelevant. I disagreed with the assessing team, but his GP had actually made a formal complaint about the distortions of his medical history without any consultation with her.”

“Oh. That’s great news.”

“How is he?”

“Don’t know yet. He’s awake. I just phoned my acting sergeant, DC Hooper, to come take his statement for me. Come and meet Martha and her daughters.”

Robbie wasn’t sure how he felt. He was glad that those obstacles had just been removed, and James was fantastic with Molly, and certainly not crazy. No, it was his own ability to parent he was beginning to doubt. He’d managed a spectacularly shit job with Mark. With Ken. What was it about his kids; they didn’t even want the names he and Val chose?

*

“Hi pet, how are you doing?”

“Um, not good.”

“Feel up to giving your statement to Hooper?”

Hooper waved from the doorway. “How are you doing Sir?”

“Complete shit. I don’t think you need to call me Sir, Alec. Not really. Not now.”

Lewis came up to the bed and picked up James’ hand and caressed it with his thumb and said, “Before anything James, I want you to know your doctor has made a formal complaint about the distortion about your mental health and the adoption is going through.”

James looked confused for a moment, his forehead creasing and his nose wrinkling in concentration as he struggled to order his thoughts. He managed to latch on to something important, “Molly! Did they hurt Molly? Where’s Molly?”

“She’s fine. Martha is looking after for the night. She’d borrowed her husband’s car and has taken my keys to get Molly’s stuff, alright? They’re keeping you in tonight pet, although it may be here. Problem with enough beds and staff, but...” Robbie shrugged. “You’re fine pet, they just need to keep an eye on you. Alec is going to take your statement, if you feel up to it.”

“You said they. Was there other men with Mark Lewis?” asked Hooper gently.

“Mark? Oh, no, he...”

“What happened before you were hit James?” Robbie asked.

James closed his eyes and began to shake. “He... he... said you didn’t love me, you were straight, you just wanted to... he called me a slut and a tart and... Is it true? Are you just using me?” By now James eyes were wide open, in a complete panic.

“No, of course not pet,” Lewis glanced at Hooper. “You know how much I...” he looked at Hooper again, who studied his shoes intently. “I love you James, you know that.”

“So what you’re saying is this was a hate crime, he beat you up coz you’re his Dad’s boyfriend?” Hooper asked, equally carefully.

James looked at Hooper, frowning. “He was looking for something.”

“The heroin?” prompted Lewis. “You phoned to say he’d been there, but he had left when you called.”

“Did he come back? You couldn’t have phoned in the state we found you.”

“And I could hear Molly with you, but she wasn’t when we found you.”

“Molly! Oh God! They took Molly from me and...”

“James?”

“Sir, they what?” pressed Hooper.

“The flat. They tore it apart. There were...” James frowned. “I can’t remember. I’m trying, but it’s blank, like when...” He burst into messy tears, remembering waking up back in May, at the Marsden Ferry Allotments. “I hurt. It hurts to think. Is Molly okay? Did they hurt her?” Lewis put his arms around him awkwardly, not wanting to hurt him.

“They,” he repeated. “You keep saying they James?”

“Was the Inspector’s son one of them?”

“I... don’t think so but sorry, I don’t remember. I tried to stop them taking Molly and this man twisted my arm behind my back and he kept laughing. There were others but I don’t remember. They were looking for something, too. It wasn’t there. They got angry and kept hitting me to tell them and I don’t remember! Why don’t I remember?”

“It’s the concussion James, it’s normal to not remember what happened before being knocked out,” Hooper said, squeezing James uninjured shoulder.

Suddenly the Scottish nurse was there with a porter. “We’re taking him to the trauma unit now, Inspector, Constable. If you have more to ask you must come back.”

“Okay. We had better go Sir.”

“I’ve got to go now, James. I’ll try to get back to you soon, as soon as I can, but you must understand I’m very busy.”

“Don’t go Sir!”

“I have too!” Robbie said, equally anguished. He hugged James tightly and kissed his forehead before forcing himself to walk away. He stood in the doorway and looked back and grinned mischievously, “Just remember, the answer is purple. And also remember Molly is fine. Okay. Bye pet.” And with that he followed Hooper out.

“Purple?” James asked, confused.

“We’ll let them know,” the nurse said, smiling as the porter began to move his bed.

“What?”

“In the plaster room. I think we need the doctor to check you over again, you’re still very groggy.”

“What?!”

*

Lewis drove them back down the hill to the city centre, the temperature dropping and the ice and slush freezing into a nightmare of a steep, as yet ungritted, ice rink. It was hell and stressful, the car slid on more that one occasion. It took almost an hour with the care they were taking, the avoiding of the other idiots on the road. Twice they had to stop to assist other drivers and once to help an old lady up from the pavement, not leaving her until they were sure she was fine, with nothing broken.

Eventually they were driving up the High when Hooper got a call from Baynes. Mark Lewis had been sighted coming up to St. Giles, but once he’d spotted the uniforms he’d turned and fled, running back towards Cornmarket. Lewis span the car right into the pedestrian zone and kept heading up Cornmarket towards St. Giles. He had to drive slowly because of the ice and the few shoppers and winter tourists that were out. He saw Mark and slammed on the breaks.

Mark glared at him through the windscreen before turning and pelting into the Clarendon Centre. Lewis flung open the door and gave chase, not caring what happened to the car and Hooper. As it was, Hooper locked the car and ran after, being joined by Baynes and Chandra as they came down Cornmarket the other way. Slipping and sliding they followed their Inspector and his son.

People in the shopping centre stared as the scruffy young man was chased by the older, getting in Lewis’ way.

“Police! Stop!” he yelled after Mark, but really for the benefit of all the people getting in his way as he struggled to keep up speed on the slippery polished tiles made worse by all the ice and slush and snow that had been tracked in all day.

People watched as another man in plain clothes and two young uniformed officers, one blond, one Asian, ran after them.

Mark reached the corner to turn into the walkway to Queen Street when he slipped outside Costa Coffee. As he stumbled to get up his father brought him down in a rugby tackle, reaching for handcuffs in his pocket.

“Kenneth Mark Lewis, I arrest you for the murder of Nadia Lewis, the assault of James Hathaway and for smuggling heroin. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Get up.” He hauled Mark to his feet and cuffed him before handing over to Baynes. “Get him out of my sight.”

“I didn’t kill Nadia! I didn’t! She was my life! You must believe me Dad, I didn’t kill her, I didn’t...”

Lewis looked at the floor, panting hard, as Baynes led his son away, followed by Chandra. Hooper stood near by, in silent sympathy.

“Sir?” he asked.

“Go take them back in the Land Rover. I’m going to walk back. I need to clear my head. Stick him in the cells and leave to rot. I’ll deal with him in my own time.”

“Sir,” Hooper repeated and left him alone to the continued stares of passers-by. Obviously, to anyone in earshot, they knew he had just arrested his own son. He felt sick. He straightened up and looked straight at the Costa. It made him think of James. He wanted to go back to the hospital but knew he had to go back and log his arrest and, at some point, question Mark. Sighing, he went into the coffee shop instead and got himself a takeaway tea to warm him up. People went back to their lives and stopped staring at him as if he were an alien with two heads.

An hour later, back at the station, having logged it and booked Mark in the custody suite, he told Hooper and Ramsy he would interview in the morning. They might as well go home and he was going back to the JR. He needed James. Well, brandy seemed like a good option, but he was trying not to give in to that. It was the bloody brandy’s fault, this whole bloody mess of his family.

*

Lewis got as far as his car when he got a call from Hobson.

“I was about to ring you to give you a right telling off, Robbie, when a little birdie – okay a nurse friend of mine – told me about James. Are you with Molly or at work?”

“James’ cousin has taken Molly, with Molly’s social worker’s blessing, thank God. Yeah, I’m at work, with our prime suspect in custody.”

“Robbie, that’s Mark!”

“Yeah. Yeah. What did you want me for?”

“I know this is difficult for you, but I am just about to conduct the PM on this morning’s victim. Sorry it’s taken me so long, but with the all the fatals on the road and the hypothermia cases I’ve been busy. We seriously do not have the infrastructure for this. I don’t want to tell you what I’ve just been doing. It’s like the fucking Third World!”

Lewis had never heard Hobson swear before. He was stunned. If she’d just dealt with a body that had unsettled her he didn’t want to know. But then he was her friend...

“It’s okay Laura. If you want to talk.”

“I need a formal ID on the body and with the husband under arrest that leaves you. Chandra tried to get the hotel night porter who checked them in but he claimed he only spoke to the man, to Mark, and refused. I need you here as next of kin and the investigating officer. Can you do that Robbie?”

Lewis sighed, “I was on my way up to you anyway.”

*

Lewis went first to A&E and was directed to a ward where he was informed James was asleep. He panicked but was reassured this was good, a naturally healing sleep, and his obs were being taken every half hour just to be sure. He was comfortable and safe and there were really, really no concerns about any neurological damage. Sleep was the best thing for him. Honestly.

Finally Lewis was reassured enough to leave James where he was and head for the mortuary. Hobson was just finishing up as he arrived.

“As I suspected, she had been beaten up, tortured even, before they killed her.”

“They?”

“The bruise patterning indicates more than one pair of fists. She’d had sex a few hours before she died, consensually and unprotected, with her partner.” Laura looked up at Lewis and winced. “Sorry.”

Lewis shrugged. “I’m long reconciled to the fact my children are adults.” He laughed a horrible laugh, “You know, all sorts of things went through my mind while I was waiting for that ambulance. Being here, with you, with James...” he nodded towards the table, “and you saying just that. Forgetting, you know. Here I am, the investigating office because there is no bloody body else and you telling me one the last things he’d done was have sex, anal sex with another man. You’ve even got my DNA on file.”

“James is fine.” Laura walked up to Nadia’s body and stroked her hair. “You know, I had expected her hair to feel the same as someone from African descent. I didn’t think anything else. But she’s not, not African at all, is she? Not for 40, 000 years.”

“Dunno about that Laura. Is that how long since we all left Africa? Dunno. Not my thing. But yeah, she was half Aboriginal. What else can you tell me useful? If it wasn’t Mark, but a... what, gang? James kept saying they. He’s very woozy, but he remembered several men, and can’t remember if Mark came back. Mark came and assaulted him then some others came, but if Mark... Oh hell! I think you’re hiding something, Laura. I can tell.”

Hobson was still looking down at Nadia’s body, stroking her hair. “I estimate the deceased age to be 21, 22, something like that, no more that 24.”

Lewis shrugged, “So she was younger than Mark. What am I, a hypocrite? What is it Laura, man, I can see it in your eyes?”

Hobson took a deep breath and walked towards Lewis. “Well, there’s no nice way to say this, you’re going to find it hard.”

“What?”

“She was pregnant, about 12 weeks pregnant.”

Lewis groaned and pushed his head into the wall, turning his back on Hobson. “What?” he muttered.

“She was...”

He span round, his eyes glittering with unshed tears, glaring at her. “What is - was it? I know you can tell and I know you never tell me in cases because it’s never been relevant. It’s bloody relevant to me now!”

“Male.”

“A boy, Laura, he was a baby boy.”

“A foetus.”

“My grandson.”

“You’ve been with James too long, it wouldn’t have survived without her...”

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Okay,” Laura said carefully.

“Sorry. I am sorry for shouting. It’s just... What do people do, Laura? What do you do? Put the baby back and sew her up. You don’t... just throw away...?”

“Robbie! Of course not! It depends on the next of kin. Some elect for a separate coffin, as separate funeral, but mostly with foetuses nearly full term.”

Laura knew she wasn’t being much comfort, but to her the baby wasn’t real yet, unlike what she’d had to deal with before Nadia’s post-mortem. A mother and child both died in childbirth due to complications and the ambulance and midwife just not making it on time because of the snow. Things like that hurt more than murder, for then there was always a twisted, sick or evil reason. But death like that was so random and unnecessary. She stood next to him, hovering, not quite touching, waiting for Robbie to say something, do something. She wanted to point out that if they had lived the baby would have been born addicted to heroin, but kept still and quiet.

“So, I can have a separate funeral or bury them together or what?”

“You can bury them together with a name for the baby, or have a tiny coffin and bury them separately. I don’t really know. I’m not involved much with that end of things. My job is to determine cause of death, and if murder or manslaughter, provide evidence to catch the killer.”

“Name? He needs a name?” Robbie said, catching hold of the only thing that Laura said that filtered through his tired brain, hurting with so much emotional pain he didn’t know how he could go on.

“Yes. Even if you just put it on the gravestone and let me keep the f... baby inside her. If you like. If Mark likes.”

“Endeavour.”

“What?” Laura began to worry that Robbie had flipped under the pressure.

“Endeavour. His name is Endeavour.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“One the poor little sod won’t have to live with. I dunno, I give perfectly good names and they get changed. What’s wrong with Louise or Kenneth, eh?”

“Nothing, Robbie, but Endeavour is shit.”

Robbie snorted, “Yeah, yeah it is. But it means something special to me. Our Lyn is on her own and our Mark will go to prison. Mebbe I won’t get another grandson, so I can name this one after someone who meant a lot to me.” And with that Robbie did cry, leaning his head forward on the wall and giving into the tears.

Laura said nothing, just silently rubbing his back mouthing to herself, ‘E. Morse? E. Morse? Endeavour Morse?”

*

James woke up in the early hours struggling to work out where he was. Then he remembered, hospital, and he also remembered Robbie telling him Molly was safe, with Martha. He felt sick and full of pain, especially his head and shoulder, but his wrist was more of a dull ache. However, his right hand was hot and clammy and constricted. He realised that was because someone was holding it. He opened his eyes and saw Robbie Lewis’s head leant on the bed, holding his hand. He was sitting in a chair bent forwards, hand on bed with right arm stretched out onto his legs, left hand holding his right tightly. He looked at what he could of Robbie’s face in the half-light. He looked old, suddenly, much older. And his face was tracked with streaks of dried, salty tears.

“Sir? Robbie? Wake up, your back will cripple you if you don’t wake up.” James tried to disengage his hand from its tight grip and shook it. Instinctively he moved his arm over to stroke Robbie’s hair, forgetting the purple cast that clonked on Robbie’s head with a bang.

“Ow!” Robbie said, waking up. He sat back up, rubbing his head and looking confused, then rubbed his eyes. Sleepily he smiled at James and began to speak, “Hello pet, how are...” When suddenly he was awake fully and everything smashed back into his mind: arresting Mark, Nadia’s body, the baby, the drugs, Molly, James’ beaten up... Before he knew it he’d let out another anguished sob.

“Robbie!” James struggled to sit up and put his arms around his lover. “S’sh. S’sh. What’s the matter? Tell me.”

Robbie held on to James tightly, burying his head in James’ chest until he had composed himself, taking strength from James’ unconditional love. Finally he sat back, taking a deep sigh. “Where do you want me to start? Arresting me own son. Nadia was pregnant. A little boy. The bloody drugs smuggling. Take your pick James. I have basically, fundamentally fucked up as a parent to that boy, and that’s a fact.”

“Robbie, you can’t blame yourself...”

“I can and I do. It’s true. Mark was always a troubled boy, or Ken as he still called himself then. He needed a Dad, a shoulder to cry on, someone to look after him for all he was a young man. What did he get, eh? A drunk. That’s what I taught him, that you run away from pain by getting wasted. And look at him now. I was never there for him, always on a case, never at his stuff at school, never at cubs and scouts and his football team matches. Always called away on a case if I was there. Never there when Val was gone, just getting pissed and wallowing, never thinking of me kids losing their Mam, never...”

“Lyn is fine, so you can’t blame yourself.”

“Lyn is a girl, was older, had a lot of supportive, nurturing friends about her. And she went to pieces too. Slept around, got pissed and stoned every night. We both ignored Ken and he was so fucking vulnerable. Why didn’t we see that? Why didn’t I see that?”

“Robbie, you were hurting.”

“I’m crap.”

“Look,” James shouted, waking up people on the ward, bringing a nurse rushing to shush him, “I know what a crap dad is, and you are not it. When I was a kid I’d have given my right arm to have a dad like you. You were busy. Then you were bereaved.” He looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said to the nurse. She looked hard at Robbie Lewis.

“I’ll make you a cup of tea Mr. Lewis.”

“Two sugars, please,” James called after her. He turned back to see Robbie looking at him through narrowed eyes. “What?”

“I wondered if you had ever figured it out.”

“What?”

“That I’m a father figure to you.”

“No you’re not. Oh! So what if you are, I love you, you love me. Don’t you?”

“Can you love Molly?” Robbie didn’t answer the question, which he took as rhetorical.

“Of course I do. Would you not love me if I didn’t love her?”

“Don’t be bloody stupid! I don’t know if I can do this. I might fuck her up too.”

“And care is better? Don’t be so bloody stupid yourself. And stop blaming yourself! I was a bit hazy yesterday. Did you say that the adoption was going ahead?”

“Still lots of hurdles pet, but with Molly’s social worker supporting it and your GP’s complaint about the way your childhood and medical history have been distorted obstacles have been removed. Now she’s half orphaned my age is irrelevant, as grandparents can always adopt orphan grandchildren. I rang Innocent and she too sent a stern e-mail of complaint at your treatment too.”

“Do you still want it?”

“I want my granddaughter safe and happy. If that means she will become me daughter, then fine. Let’s do it. What do you want, pet?”

“I want Molly to be safe and well too. I want to be with you ‘til death do us part’. You want me to sort of be Molly’s adopted Mum and I can’t get my head around that. How can I?”

Robbie smiled and remembered Martha in the waiting room. He shook his head, “No pet, you can’t be a Mum. Molly will have two dads.” He grinned again and pointed to himself, “Dad and,” he pointed to James, “Daddy.”

“Oh!” James smiled back.

“Starting from now, I think, as Molly’s social worker and that manager, Sandra Chalk was it, are fairly certain it’s a matter a weeks before it’s finalised. They need a signature from Mark, but we know where he is, he’s not going any where, unless it’s a Remand Centre.”

“Shit, Robbie. I’m sorry. Did you actually make the arrest?”

“Yeah. You think I’d let anyone else? My shit, I clean it up.”

“It is not your shit. This is not your fault.”

“Nothing you say, James, will change how I feel about this. All I can do is try to make amends. Ta love,” he said as the nurse handed him a cup of tea. She whispered that really he ought to leave as everyone would be waking up soon and the shift would change and he really shouldn’t have been here anyway. “Gone as soon as,” he said, draining his tea. He stood and gave James a miserable kiss. “Going to interview him now. If you remember anymore about your assault call Hooper and get him up here, alright?”

“Will do. Good luck.” He waved his hand in its purple cast and watched Robbie Lewis walk away, tall and upright, his shoulders set tense. No one would now be able to guess how close he was to breaking. Especially after he washed his face and shaved, which James just knew he would do before he went back to work. They had that in common, they always had, carrying their pain on the inside.


	9. Interlude two: Death and the angelic Barbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lewis: The Pilot
> 
> "I had an aunt, so I know how it can be."  
> "And did she make a good end, as they say?"  
> "No, she lost her faith."

They had to stay out of the way of the adults. James’ father wasn’t around much and his Mum was busy nursing Martha’s Mum while her father, who didn’t work, sat around smoking too much weed and weeping. When it rained they had to stay in Martha’s bedroom. There was no TV. Martha had a little tape player/radio, but a tape had tangled up in the player, so they were stuck with Radio 1 or Fox FM or nothing. Martha refused point blank to James’ requests for Radios 3 and 4. He spent hours the first rainy day trying to untangle the tape and fix the player, but he had no success. It began to occur to him that Martha’s family had less money than they did, as his Dad always seemed to produce money from somewhere half the time. He followed his mother’s example and did not ask if it had come from casual labour, the dogs or the horses or somewhere even less savoury.

Mostly when they were forced to stay in James just lay on his sleeping bag reading. Sometimes Martha would want to know what he was doing, but mostly she got on with her own thing. She had a motley collection of Barbies. Until her Dad had lost his job due to all the time out he had had to take to look after her Mum he had been a refuge collector, that is, he drove a bin lorry, and he had rescued a few discarded teenage dolls for his daughter. One doll had an arm missing, another had lost both feet, two had had there hair chopped – skin head Barbie and eighties lop sided Human League haired Barbie - and one had been drawn on all over, tattoo Barbie.

Because they came naked Martha got into the habit of making them clothes from cut old dresses left over from the jumble sales at the Methodist church down the road. Martha’s friend’s Mum ran the jumble sales and always saved left over dresses with prints she thought ‘that poor little girl’ might like. By the time she was nine Martha had got quite adept at making dolls clothes and had moved, by eleven, to also, if the fabric was good quality and a nice print and large enough to use, making her own clothes. She had a folder full of sketches of ideas, too.

The afternoon they took James to hospital in started to thunder, turning into a torrential downpour. They sat in Casualty in Swindon for hours before James was seen, conscious by then, first Martha’s Dad and then his, holding a pressure pad the nurse gave him to his chin.

Minutes after arriving with Uncle Jon his father arrived and pulled him away from the children. There was a hurried, whispered conversation and Jon rushed off and left Joe. Martha sat on the seat next to her cousin and uncle, hugging her legs and sucking her skinned knees and listening to the thunder, flinching at every roll. It was her Mum, it had to be. Why didn’t they tell her? Why didn’t her Dad take her back too?

She turned to look at James, who was sat on his father’s lap, who seemed to be holding him quite nicely, considering the way he shouted and swore at him. She couldn’t understand why James wasn’t scared of Uncle Joe. He terrified her. He was swearing now, about the blood, about the gang who did this, about James being bloody stupid enough to wear something something fairy wings and advertise the fact he was a something poof.

Was he?

Martha remembered the previous week, sitting up in her favourite tree, it had the most amazing branch, so big and wide, that curved to make an almost hammock, reaching out to the next tree, which was much easier to climb. It was a secluded, private sofa in the sky, hidden in the summer by the oak and beech leaves. She had shared it with James and sometimes they sat there, both reading, or he reading and her drawing clothes. James’ Mum frequently gave them sandwiches and a big bottle of made up squash so they had lunch and/or tea there, hidden. James hadn’t known quite why they hid so much until he’d paid for it with a split chin and a cracked head, but Martha was not well liked by the neighbouring kids. She was the one with the weirdo Dad and the weird clothes and the cripple Mum, who when she had been well enough to come out, with her pink dreads and long skirts and hand knit jumpers had been the weird cripple.

Martha had told James cousins were allowed to marry and proposed, so they could do this forever. James had smiled and gently, very gently, told her he was already promised to someone.

“That horrid Scarlett!” Martha had said at once. James had told her all about his parents’ boss’ daughter. He made it sound like they were William and Violet Elizabeth from Just William, always playing it for laughs to cheer her up.

“Absolutely not!” James had spat out. “No, God.”

“God!” Martha had cried, an almost alien concept to the semi heathen Martha. She had, the previous two weeks, gone to Mass with her Auntie and Uncle and James out of curiosity and had like the drama of the rituals, the bells and smell of incense. She had vague memories of going to Hindu temples with her parents as a toddler and it felt the same. The singing had been nice too.

“Yes,” James said, going pink.

“You can’t marry God!”

“No, I’m going to be a priest. I made a promise. You can’t get married if you are a priest.”

“Oh.” Martha thought about this. “What if you change your mind?”

“It’s not my mind, it’s what God wants.”

“Well, what if God changes his mind?”

“I still couldn’t marry you Martha. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, God doesn’t change His mind, because if He did I could marry...” James went bright red and put a hand over his mouth.

“What?”

“I can’t marry, it wouldn’t be right. Not fair on you Martha, I don’t really fancy girls.”

“Well, you are only 12.”

“You’re only 11 and you just asked me to marry you! And what about that boy in your class, George, is it? And all those bloody posters you’ve got of Will Smith?”

“Well, he’s gorgeous!”

“H’m,” James said thoughtfully, “perhaps. Maybe. I wish you had a TV. I really miss Lovejoy. And the repeats of Magnum PI.”

Martha thought about this for a few moments and then said carefully, “You have very, very strange taste James.”

Now his own Dad was calling him an effing (she couldn’t even think the word) poof.

James, she could tell, was trying not to cry, and although his Dad was swearing and calling him a poof, his tone of voice was quite kindly and he kept hold of James tightly, like he did actually love him. It was weird. Her Dad got stoned, but it just made him a bit calmer and lazy, he never swore at her, never raised his voice, never told her off, just acted surprised and hurt if she did something wrong. Not that her parents had too many rules, and those they did were about keeping her safe or well and happy. They explained everything. She had to go to bed before them because children needed more sleep to grow big. You didn’t play on the main road because you might forget and get run over. You didn’t climb the trees around the electricity sub station in case you fell off and got electrocuted.

Finally they called James in and gave him five stitches, which she was not allowed to watch, and gave Uncle Joe a leaflet about head injuries after looking in James’ eyes and asking him stupid questions.

James was sent to bed and Martha was taken by her Dad to her Mum’s room, where she stayed. James snuck out at about eight o’clock that night but his Dad was drinking at the kitchen table. He shouted when he saw and James ran back upstairs. Of his Mum and everyone else there was no sign. His Dad came up half an hour later with a glass of milk, marmite sandwiches and an apple, kissed the top of his head and told him to stay where he was. He slept, the bang on the head giving him little choice. He awoke at around two to blue lights flashing and watched as Martha’s Mum was taken away. Uncle Jon got into the ambulance too and Martha was screaming. She wriggled out of his Mum’s arms and chased the ambulance up the road. Then, strangely, Fr. Jones came out and shook his Dad’s hand and his Dad shook his head. His Mum chased after Martha. He got into bed and hugged his legs and began to pray. He didn’t think there was anything else he could do. He had only ever half believed his aunt was actually dying.

Half an hour later the cold, bony form of Martha wriggled into his sleeping bag.

“She’s not dead. She’s not. They will make her better in hospital.” Then she burst into tears.

*

It rained all week. Lapsed Jon reverted, his wife coming home for the coffin to sit in the front room to wait for the funeral. The family arrived in force. There were so many cousins James felt overwhelmed. There were not only his cousins, but Martha’s through her Mum’s family. Both grandmothers organised everything, they were friends from the church. Jon and Christine had met at Sunday school all those years ago. When they thought the children and Jon couldn’t hear there were hissed whispers about Christine refusing the Host before she died.

Martha disappeared in the wood and James could never find her. Jon toked, Joe drank and Rose kept everything together, roping in her son to make tea and sandwiches, to bake cakes and to cook tea. James was torn. He wanted to find Martha but he couldn’t leave his Mum. He slowly noticed that all Martha’s pictures of fairies and designs for dresses were ripped up and the dolls missing. She was hardly there when she was there, staring into space at bedtime, ignoring everything he said. Since he was practically doing all the cooking and housework he was so exhausted he didn’t want to talk either, besides, he didn’t know what to say.

The day before the funeral, though, he snuck out, his Mum calling for him, but he didn’t care. He followed Martha into the woods.

She went deep into the wood, far down the hill, into a shallow depress surrounded by ferns and holly, crawling through on her hands and knees. Inside was like a real fairy grotto. Four fallen huge oak trees had made a square of trunks than were covered with ivy and creepers and new growth trees. Martha sat in the wet earth next to five small, recently dug mounds. She talked to them, telling them to look after her Mum. She looked up, startled, as she saw James spying on her. She screamed at him to leave her alone. Coward that his was, unable to know what to do to help her, he ran back to the house. His Mum met him in the back garden, so stressed with all the people coming and going and the drunk and stoned husband and brother-in-law, she slapped his face. James stood there, face stinging. His mother had never, ever hit him in all his life. He turned and fled, running in the opposite direction, into the village centre and the play park next to the village green. There he met one of the gang, Patrick.

“You’re not dead then?”

“Obviously.”

“You staying with the weirdo?”

“She’s my cousin. My Aunt has just died.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about, you know... Your chin is a mess.”

“It fucking hurts too.”

Patrick looked at James steadily following the use of the f-word. He offered him the rest of his Coke and then a cigarette. James hadn’t had a cola since they had left Crevecoeur, existing on healthy vegan hippie stuff like apple juice and hi squashes. He drank it eagerly and then tried the cigarette. He coughed. Patrick laughed and slapped him on the back. They sat side by side on the swings smoking and drinking Coke until the sunset, hardly talking. Once the sun had set Patrick got up and said he’d tell everyone Martha’s Mum was dead and to lay off her.

“And you’re alright, for a fairy. Here.” He handed James a couple of cigarettes and a box of matches.

James tried to smile. “Thanks.”

He tried to sneak back in but his Dad caught hold of him. Martha was still missing and everyone was on edge. The wider family had gone, Uncle Jon was weeping in the front room with the coffin. Joe smelt the cigarettes on his son and really laid into him with his belt and sent him to bed with no supper.

An hour later Martha crept into the bedroom.

“James?” she hissed.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I was up our tree, I saw Uncle Joe... Oh God, are you okay?”

“Fine. Are you?”

“No.” She started to cry. James unzipped his sleeping bag and indicated she got in with him. She snuggled up to him and cried into his chest. Eventually she snuffled, “I want my Barbies,” before she cried herself into a fitful sleep.

Once he was sure she was asleep James carried her to her own bed, making sure he tucked all the rag dolls and soft toys around her in the right order before hurriedly dressing and then looking thoughtfully out of the bedroom window...

*

Martha awoke in the half-light to find herself in her own bed. James was curled up in his sleeping bag, snoring slightly. The curtains and the window were open and dawn light was streaming in, glittering a reflecting off something hanging from the ceiling. She wanted to stay half-awake forever, as at the back of her mind she knew that today they were going to bury Mummy in the Earth, when Mummy had wanted to be burnt, to turn to smoke and fly up into the sky and have her ashes scattered to the wind on the sea. It was cold in the ground and she hated herself for what she did to the Barbies. Then she looked up at the white, glittering, spinning things that had been in the corner of her eye.

She squealed.

They were back. All five of them. In white dresses with gold crowns and glittery white and gold wings that shimmered in the light, hanging from string and wire from the ceiling above her bed.

They were angels.

She had killed her Babies and buried them in the ground and they had come back to her. She wriggled out of bed, rag dolls and soft toys spilling on the floor, and, standing on her bed to reach them, squealed,

“James! James! Wake up! My Barbies are angels! They came back! Mummy will be an angel too, won’t she? She’ll watch over me too, won’t she! James!”

James groaned and half opened an eye. He pulled the sleeping bag over his head and moaned at the light. He was covered in mud, it had taken his forever to find the grotto and dig them up. Every finger was covered with pinpricks and glue.

“Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, she’s with God now,” he lied believing no such thing, they way she had been so rude to Fr. Jones hours before she had died. But who knew? God’s Grace and Mercy were never ending.


	10. And the worst interview of his career

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little family reconciliation...
> 
> (apologies if there are many, many typos, I'm in a bit of a horrid relapse at the moment. you may have to wait a while for the rest. hopefully not. fingers crossed...)

James had nothing to read, and he hadn’t wanted to ask Robbie, so he spent time with the Gideon’s Bible by his bed studying Proverbs until Martha arrived with Molly and the two girls.

“Wow! Does it hurt?!”

“Can I draw on it?”

“Can I write my name?”

“Why have you got a plaster thing on your head?”

“But does it hurt?”

“My head does, especially when little girls scream in my ear. Yes, you can both decorate my cast. Hello Martha. Hey Molly.”

Molly stared at James from Martha’s arms.

“Does she remember me?” panicked James.

“She spent over 72 hours with you and no one else. Here darling, go to Daddy.” Martha handed him Molly so he could hold her carefully with his right hand, holding her tightly to his chest. He couldn’t believe how he felt. In less than a week his entire outlook on his life, his future, his plans, had completely altered. He just couldn’t imagine life without Molly. In fact, life before Molly felt hazy and bit empty. He kissed the top of her head. She looked up and grinned and pulled his nose.

“Juh!”

“No darling, it’s Daddy now.” He held her closer and rubbed their noses together. He looked up and grinned at Martha. “Daddy,” he repeated and laughed.

“Yup,” said Martha and sat on the end of the bed.

The girls were very quiet so Martha and James looked to the other side of his bed. Not only was his cast was covered in squiggles and flowers (Lily) and many, many little fairies (Karen) but they had moved onto the bed sheets. Martha let out an anguished roar,

“Girls!”

“That was very naughty,” added James. “I will get in trouble with the nurses for that.”

“Sorry,” muttered Karen, looking down.

“We sort of got carried away Uncle James,” Lily said with no shame.

“Are you here to take me home? I’m just waiting for the doctor’s rounds. It shouldn’t be a problem, they’re not worried about my head.”

“Robbie and I thought it best if you came back to mine for the next couple of night. Dan doesn’t mind. We’ll move the girls old cot to the spare room so you can be with Molly.”

“Okay. Whatever. Did you speak to him?”

“Briefly, he was at work. Although, this was just gone eight this morning. Does he always work all hours?”

“On a murder investigation. We both do. Did. How is he?”

Martha considered this a while before answering. “Stressed. Very stressed. I think there is a lot going on you are not telling me.”

James looked at the girls, now watching TV in the day room at the end of the ward. “Later tonight,” he replied, wondering where on Earth he would start.

*

Lewis was at Innocent’s desk. As some roads were clearing as the Highways Agency and Oxfordshire County Council got to grips with securing the infrastructure more staff were showing up for work but it was still a logistical nightmare, and Innocent was still trapped by snowdrifts and a broken down tractor. He was rubbing the back of his neck staring at duty rosters spread over the desk and on the two screens when he heard the click clack of heels and DI Angie Laxton strode in.

“Right, how do you want it?” she snapped.

Lewis looked up, his hair on end, the bags under his eyes having bags of their own, his face pale. “What?”

“Well, I know you should stay here and carry on as acting CS and I will take over the murder, but it’s your call Robbie.”

“Oh God. Please. Help yourself Angie.” He stood up. “I know it’s unethical, but I arrested him now, haven’t I?”

“Ooh, look at me, I’m Jean,” Angie said, easing herself into the chair. Robbie grinned, trying to imagine the jeans and cargos Angie in one of Innocent’s more slinky purple numbers. “What are you grinning at Inspector?” Angie said in a fair imitation of Innocent. Robbie let out a snort of humour, one small release of his tension. “Oh, go get yourself a cup of tea and breakfast then conduct that interview.”

*

Mark sat still and tense, looking scared and half his age. He was scruffy and smelly. The duty solicitor, a middle aged man with little hair and a voice that made Mark slightly nervous, sat beside him but moving his chair as far as decent from the smell of the unwashed, sick addict. PC Baynes stood at the back of the room waiting for Hooper, who came in after a few minutes of Baynes bringing the young Lewis up from the custody suite. Mark looked up.

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’s your Dad, it wouldn’t be ethical would it now?” He indicated to PC Baynes who began the tape and video, stating the time and who was present.

“Firstly, My client wishes to cooperate regarding the heroin. He also admits to hitting and threatening his father’s partner but he had nothing to do with the death of his wife.”

“Okay. Let’s take this in order then, shall we? You had getting on for 30 kilos of pure heroin in the car seat, stuffed under the lining, in the padding and in the chair’s frame, hollowed for the purpose. We also found over £2000 in cash stuffed in your suitcase in the hotel room.”

“Yeah. It was for the future. Look, we’d never done this before, yeah. Deal. No way. Just use. We were in so much debt, and we kept trying to quit, for Molls, but we got sick and she just would scream and scream and scream. Nadia’s Dad’s family didn’t want to know her and her Mum’s a drunk, a prostitute and a depressive. Her grandparents live in the Outback, but they are old, and drunk. You should see them, it’s so sad. The whites spend 200 years killing them slowly. Their culture, everything. There was this guy who is teaching Abo culture and art and religion and he offered us a job in the Tourist Centre but we had to get ourselves clean. We needed help. I wanted to come home. I just wanted my Dad. I needed him.” Mark stared at the mirror on the wall. “I needed his help but I had no money. We had debts, I mean big debts with big time dealers. We were desperate. This guy, a big boss in Sydney, offered to pay for the three of us. So we jumped at the chance, yeah? But then we thought, why not? Split the gear. So when we got to Hong Kong we split it, half in the seat and half sewn into the nappies, packets and packets of nappies. We told customs and that at Hong Kong and Heathrow Molly had a bug, and she stank of shit so they backed off and left the nappies alone. This guy had given us an address to go to in Uxbridge but when we got into England we got a call telling us to go Blackbird Leys, telling that a car was hired in my name, I just had to pick it up. We couldn’t believe it, a free ride all the way home!” Mark paused for breathe and looked down.

“My client is prepared to give you all the names and addresses he knows, in Oxford, London, Hong Kong and Sydney.”

“Even if they come after me. I don’t care anymore. If I get killed in prison, so what? Nadia was everything to me. When I saw her there it was like I was dead too, my heart stopped beating. I’m a walking dead man. I’m nothing without her. Nothing.” He looked at the mirror again. “I know now what Dad felt. Like he was hollowed out and nothing would fill it. Losing Nadia is worse than losing Mam, and that was bad...”

“Okay, let’s take a break here and I’ll get you sent some tea and food and then PC Baynes here will take your statement with the names of those involved in the smuggling.”

*

Hooper joined Lewis behind the mirror. He was standing still and white. Hooper wasn’t sure if his boss had noticed him but as he was about to speak Lewis said,

“As soon as you’ve got the address and names of the Oxford ones move. Squad cars and choppers, the works. We have to move fast as they may already have cleared out.”

“Sir. Can I get you a cup of tea or something?”

“I’m done with something,” Lewis said bitterly. “Yeah. Two sugars. Ta.”

*

“Why did you go back?” Hooper asked an hour later, in their second session.

“Go back?”

“To your father’s flat.”

“I didn’t go back.”

“You didn’t go back to finished what you started?”

“Started? What did I start?”

“Laying into DS Hathaway.”

“Is that his rank? No! I lost it, okay. I’m bloody ashamed of meself, but I didn’t go there planning to hit him. He’s looking after Molls and I’m bloody grateful to him. I am. I went to get the smack. The guys were threatening us. They killed Nadia. I didn’t want... Look, I don’t care what they did to me but they found me at St.Giles and said they would kill Molly. They gave me a couple of hours and then...”

“Is that where you got the gun? From them?”

“It wasn’t loaded. I don’t even think it was real. Yeah, they gave it to me. They wouldn’t give me a real one would they? Not if they were threatening to kill me!”

“Tell me then, Ken... Mark, what happened?”

Mark looked then, really looked at Alec Hooper, then way he’d said his name. He realised he’d known him as a kid.

“I went to get the smack. I didn’t think it would have been found. I tried earlier, but bottled it coz Dad was there. If only I had Nadia would still be alive...” he broke off and his solicitor passed him tissues and water until he composed himself. “James wouldn’t let me in so I had to pull the gun. I was so scared when he told me that he’d found it, that it was in police custody. Look, I was angry and scared but I never meant to hurt him! It’s just that ever since I found out about him I couldn’t stop thinking...ugh! I couldn’t get it out my head. My Dad and him! He asked if he could put Molly in the cot and I followed him and when I saw the bed, the fact that they had... there, next to Molly! I just flipped. I had to know that it wasn’t my Dad taking, that he is still a man...” Mark broke off and shrugged. Hooper and Baynes exchanged a look that seemed to Mark to be saying ‘us too’.

“So you thought you’d beat the information out of him?”

“I didn’t think anything! I was crazy desperate for the smack, missing Nadia like I was open raw and bleeding and I couldn’t bear the thought of me Dad... bloody hell! I didn’t think anything, I didn’t plan anything, I didn’t mean to hurt him. I’m sorry, okay?” Mark looked at the mirror again. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt him. Is he okay? I checked the crack on his head before I left, it didn’t seem to bad. I’m sorry.”

“Broken wrist, cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, cut on his forehead, one hell of a bump on the back of his head. Bruising over torso. Okay doesn’t really describe it.”

“Shit! That wasn’t me!” Mark said, looking bemused. “Except the cut on his head. Maybe the odd bruise. I never broke any bones. I couldn’t! If I hadn’t got lucky with the crack on the head and he went down as soon as he was away from Molly he’d have defended himself, I know it.”

“You had a gun,” Baynes said.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t real, was it? He’s have figured it out, or kicked it out of my hand. He’s a police officer and I’m a smack head going cold turkey. He’s Dad’s DS, so he’s gotta be a bloody good policeman!”

“Okay, so you hit him and left. Where was Molly?”

“In her cot. I kissed her goodbye and told her Mama and me loved her so much but Grandpa and James were her daddies now and to be good, grow up clever like her Auntie Lyn not her shit for brains parents.” Angrily, Mark dashed the tears away with his fingers.

“And then?”

“I just legged it. I just knew I had to go into hiding. You say they hurt James? Molly? Is Molly okay? Is she okay? Tell me she’s okay?”

Just then Chandra came in and Baynes stopped the tape for a second. Hooper spoke briefly to the constable and then turned back to Mark, indicating Baynes start the tape “That flat has been completely cleared out. SOCO have found traces of all sorts of drugs though. Dead end Mark.”

“Molly?”

“Molly is fine,” Baynes said. “Your Dad will see her fine.”

“They dumped her in the bath. How did you leave the flat?”

“What do you mean, how did I leave it? I ran.”

“No, I mean, the state of it...”

“It was tidy. They’d got Molly all these toys, a playpen, a high chair, a cot, the works, just like I told Nadia...” he broke off into sobs and put his head down on the table. His solicitor gingerly put his hand on his back, as if uncomfortable touching someone so unwashed.

“You didn’t empty out drawers, rip up furniture and that?” clarified Hooper.

Mark looked up, puzzled. “No. They must have... but Molly is okay?”

“She’s fine. I held myself while we waited for the ambulance for Hathaway. She’s gone to his cousin’s and he’s probably there too.” By now Hooper was tired of this; tired and fed up and so sorry for his boss.

“Oh!” Mark put his head down and wept.

“Okay Mark, we’ll take another break there. You will be charged with smuggling for sure but whether James or the Inspector charge you with assault I don’t know. I suspect not, it being a domestic. We need to talk to you about why you left your wife’s body and what, if anything you saw, but I think we’re fairly certain you didn’t kill her. I can get a medic to come see you in the cells, see if he can do anything to make you more comfortable, prescribe some methadone, maybe? Would you like that, eh boy?”

Mark looked up and nodded and then got up and walked to the mirror and looked right into it. “I fucked up. Big time. And I am so sorry, for everything. It’s me, not you, it’s me. Look after her.”

As Baynes led him out of the interview room to take him back to the cells he saw his father, standing by a door, presumably the door to the room behind the mirror. Their eyes locked before Mark looked down, miserable and ashamed. His father said nothing.

*

A doctor arrived almost as soon as Mark was back in his cell. She smiled nicely, a plump, older woman in a fisherman’s jersey over jeans and wellies, long dark hair loose, introducing herself as Dr. Cox.

“Have you been on methadone before Mark?” she asked.

Mark shook his head helplessly. He couldn’t find the words to say there had been no one to ask for help in Australia, that he’d been scared of being deported and sent away from Nadia.

She came in and sat on his bunk next to him and told the officer to go, she would be fine. Mark liked the fact she trusted him so answered all her questions as honestly as possible.

*

Lewis had his head down on his desk when Hooper came in bringing tea and paperwork. He thought his boss had aged ten years in the last four days. Lewis looked up.

“What?”

“Mark’s full statements, Sir. All three. And replies from the Met., Interpol and Sydney. Witness statements from the hotel regarding the killing and neighbours interviews re the drugs raid.”

“Thanks. Put ‘em down.” Lewis shifted and sat up fully and pointed to his desk where his head had been resting. He took the tea and had a drink. “Good. Ta Alec.”

Hooper shrugged, “Someone called earlier but I didn’t want to bother you Sir, but now Sue Seinfold is here for a signature from Mark. Shall I bring him up to Interview 1?”

Lewis rubbed his eyes with the back of his had. “Yeah. She’s from social services. It’s the paperwork on him handing Molly over. I’ll take him up, shall I?”

“If you’re up to it Sir? Are you?” Hooper looked worried.

“No, no not really,” Lewis answered honestly. “Not ethical for me, I s’pose. Thanks for this.” He tapped the huge pile of paperwork. “You’ve done a grand job holding the fort, Alec.”

“No problem, boss. I’ll get that signature sorted then.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Hooper left, and as he did so he thought he heard his boss mutter to himself he was too bloody old for a baby.

*

Lewis had just finished a call from Sandra Chalk regarding the adoption when Angie came in bringing more tea and a packet of chocolate fingers and two Mars Bars.

“How are you doing?”

Lewis shrugged.

“Chocolate fix,” she said, pushing the biscuits across the desk.

Lewis opened the packet of biscuits and ate three chocolate fingers before answering. “Needed that. Thanks Angie.”

“No problem. Met. just rang. They knew the Uxbridge address, they raided it Wednesday, probably hours before Mark’s flight landed, hence the change of plan, I guess.” She shrugged. “E-mails from Australia and Interpol thanking us for the info. Nothing from the Chinese.”

“Where you expecting any?” Lewis asked snippily.

Angie stared at him for a few moments. “No, I guess not,” she said evenly.

Lewis took another two chocolate fingers and dunked them in his tea, licking the melted chocolate off his fingers after he’d eaten the soggy biscuits. He stared blankly at Angie, but she could see past the numb look at all the pain. Not having children she could not even begin to imagine the pain he was in. She silently pushed a Mars Bar at him before unwrapping her own.

“He’s scheduled in court for 10am tomorrow,” Angie said eventually.

“I know.” He sighed deeply. “And he’ll be remanded into custody pending the trial. And the media will wet their knickers over it, him being a DI’s son smuggling in that much, his wife killed by the gang behind it.” He looked down again, suddenly sick, and put down the bar of chocolate.

Angie started to say something but then changed her mind. She began again. “There is nothing wrong with you nipping out, now, to get him some new clothes and some shampoo. You could escort him to the changing rooms; let him have a shower. Nothing untoward there, I checked with Innocent. And, if after that, you want to sit down with him in interview room 1 with a cup of tea before you escort him back t the cells, well...” She shrugged, as if to say, no one in this station is going to notice or say a word.

“Thanks Angie.” Lewis stood up and grabbed his coat. It being Sunday, he had less than an hour before the shops shut.

*

Once alone with his son Lewis realised just how badly Mark was doing, no better than Molly when she first arrived. Mark shook terribly and smelt foul, having messed himself hours before. He’d been left in the cells in his own filth and no one had done anything about it.

But had he ever, he asked himself, bothered with any help or even a second thought to the average addict or alcoholic picked up and shoved in the cells, off their face on whatever and gone long past caring for their own personal hygiene.

In fact, Mark shook so badly he had to submit to his father’s help as if he were once again a small boy. And Robbie was glad of it, glad there was some way he could still be a decent parent.

He had to help Mark undress and get in the shower, throwing away the filthy, smelly clothes. He had to wash Marks’ hair and get rid of the tangles. He had to trim and shape his beard to stop his son looking like a skinny yeti.

Mark submitted to all this kindness and care wordlessly, his eyes not meeting his father’s. He felt grateful and safe. In fact, he was surprised at how comfortable it all felt, as if he were a small child again, suffering from a bug or something. It was like the time he’d broken his leg and needed help to wash but he was of an age when he would have rather died than have his Mam see him naked. Dad had made it home early every evening for four weeks without fail. But, he supposed, he was lucky there hadn’t been a murder because then he wouldn’t have seen them. Now, he was glad his Dad had such dedication, he wanted Nadia’s killer found. He was sure it wasn’t the guy who had given him the money and threatened him on the phone, the guy who punched him maybe? Or another heavy? The one who had laughed madly in the corner? He needed to tell DC Hooper that he remembered what they looked like. The thought flitted out of his head again. When he felt better.

He felt muzzy headed, and somehow he was also confused by the warmth he felt from his Dad, how he felt safe and loved as his Dad had undressed, washed and dressed him. If you had asked him before how he would feel he would have guessed at disgusted, revolted even, by his father’s touch. Now he knew what his Dad was, what he was doing with that man!

Clean and decent Mark followed his father, still completely quiet and head bowed, going upstairs rather than down.

“My office,” Robbie said. “Do you want something to eat, drink?”

Mark shook his head. He looked at the desk in the corner opposite his father’s. “This is James’ desk,” he said flatly, and then went and sat there. It was neatly laid out; his father’s desk looked like a bomb had gone off in a paper and pen factory. He opened the top drawer. Marlboro cigarettes, expensive hand cream, a small Bible, an old-fashioned fountain pen. All the while his father watched him carefully, but he didn’t speak.

“He smokes,” Mark said, for something to say.

“He’s always trying to give up. For me, really. He’s hardly had one for days, what with Molly and hospital. And it isn’t his desk now, not really. I should clear it out for him, get his things...”

“Why?” asked Mark, turning James’ pen around in his hands.

“Now we are adopting, he’s going to have time out, for Molly. A year, probably.”

“I signed the stuff.”

“I know you did Mark. It’s what’s best for her.”

Mark snapped his head up and glared. “Don’t you think I don’t know that? It’s better she thinks it’s her brother in prison, not her Dad. You’re the best Dad. But James, what’s he like, does he know what he’s doing?”

“He’ll figure it out. Your Mam and me, we hadn’t a clue with out Lyn. Thought we had it down to pat with you, but I ballsed up big time. Must have done, eh love, mustn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault Dad. Yeah, it felt like you just pushed me away, didn’t care how I felt! But I had eight years in Australia to get over it. Me and Nadia, well, we just liked running away from our shit instead of dealing with it. It’s not your fault Dad. I used to think so, but it’s not. What will you tell Molly?”

“Dunno.” Robbie shrugged. “We’ll work it out. She’ll have to always know she’s adopted, won’t she? I mean, come on...”

“You’re both the wrong colour?” Mark offered, grinning.

Robbie snorted, “Yeah. That too.”

“Don’t tell her I’m her Dad, not until she’s older and she actually asks. Please. Let her just think of me as the screw up big brother. I want her to be happy Dad.”

“I’ll do my best. And for you too. I’ll find you a good lawyer. You and Nadia were vulnerable, tricked and coerced, like so many couriers across the world. We will do our best to find the organisers this end, I promise. And James and me, we won’t press charges.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I do understand.”

“Do you?”

“It’s hard. Do you think it was easy, growing up when and where I did, knowing I fancied blokes as well as girls. Best just ignore that side of meself, I decided. But then your Mam and me fell in love, so it didn’t matter. I never needed to look at anyone else. Then she... died.”

“I know that. It ripped a fucking hole the size of a planet in my heart. I still miss her.”

“So do I pet, so do I. But life goes on. It took me four years to realise how much I loved James, needed him even. I’m sorry I disgust you, but I do understand.”

Mark shrugged, “It’s not even just the gay thing, it’s the age thing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I still ask myself, am I taking advantage of him. You heard his history.”

“It’s not his Daddy thing that bothers me. It’s like you... I dunno, like you were replacing me and Mam in one go.”

Robbie was stunned. It had never crossed his mind Mark would think such a thing. “Kenneth Mark Lewis, you are my son, I could never replace you, you daft sod, and whatever you have done I still love you, I always will. You are my only son. Come here, come on,” Robbie held out his arms to his son who crept, shamefaced, into the hug.

“I’m sorry Dad, I’m sorry I fucked up, I’m sorry...” he wept.

“No, I’m sorry, so sorry. I’m the one who fucked up, son. I’m so very, very sorry...” Robbie Lewis had tears in his own eyes as he held his son tightly, vowing to look after Molly and to never let up until he found his daughter-in-law’s killer.


	11. Trying to move on with the second meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly becomes theirs. But first Robbie has to see his son sent down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote near the end is by Christina Rossetti.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. My pc broke and it has taken a long time to get it sorted and recover my data. It died literally after I finished this chapter barring the last scene. Then I broke too, worse symptoms for five years. Two months with no computer is hell when you are disabled and house bound, I can tell you. Chapters 12 and 13 in long hand. Be patient while I type them up. Now Christmas chapter won't be posted for Christmas :(

Lewis had had enough after he had taken his own son back to the cells, so he left the paperwork until tomorrow; it was, after all, a Sunday evening. It was snowing again as he trudged home, leaving the four by four at the station for Angie Laxton.

The flat was cold and empty, and still in disarray. SOCO, when they had finished had kindly cleared away broken glass and china while Martha’s husband, Dan, had righted the furniture and repaired the play pen and high chair, but all the belongings were still out; the toys and books piled up on the sofa, the kitchenware on the breakfast bar.

He’d not really been paying attention but his kitchen seemed to have far more items than he remembered, despite the broken plates, cups and glasses. He sighed. In the morning, he decided, and went to bed.

The bed was still in the state it had been left the other morning when he’d last made love to James. And there was blood on the carpet. He decided he had to sort it out or go to Martha’s for the night as the invitation was there. He wanted James. Badly. Wanted the feel of him in his arms, the smell of him next to him in bed, the sounds of his breathing. Just the warmth of his lover, the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone...

No he didn’t. He wanted to be with Val, he wanted her here, now, with him. He wanted to share this anxiety, this guilt, this over whelming shame he felt with the one person guaranteed to understand, the one person who loved Mark as much as him, more probably. He needed to talk this one through with her.

No. How he could he burden her?

Maybe she knew? If some part of her lived on. Her eternal soul, watching somewhere, praying for her son. It was what James would believe, and right now, he wanted James’ certainty.

He curled up and wept, falling into a fitful sleep on the bed still in his coat and wellies.

*

It was still dark when Lewis woke up, overheated and mouth as dry as the Sahara desert. He stumbled to his feet and shed coat and jacket and staggered to the bathroom where he drank three glasses of water before splashing lots more cold water on his face. He then stripped off and dived into the shower, tipping his head up to let the warm water wash over his tear-stained, tired face.

When he came back to the room he stared at the cot. Could he really do this he asked himself as he pulled on blue pyjamas and bathrobe. Babies took so much energy, so much commitment. Grandchildren were for spoiling and then handing back for all the hard graft and sleepless nights. And according to that expert doctor Molly would have developmental issues that in effect would make her have ADHD. He knew he was being bloody selfish, forcing James to give up work when he was retiring, but he just couldn’t imagine coping. He didn’t even really have much experience of the hands on stuff with his own two when they were small. His phone let out a shrill ‘feed-me’ bleep so he returned to the bathroom to fetch it and put it on charge. Seventeen texts, two picture messages and five voicemails, all from James, all the how are you, thinking of you, miss you, variety, along with two photos of Molly and a message which told him her stomach had settled, she was eating fine and had no temperature. In one Molly had two tiny bunches, which apparently his hyper second cousins had done; the other was of her in a pink tutu and fairy wings. Both said, isn’t she the cutest thing?

Maybe he need not feel so guilty; maybe James was besotted with her to the exclusion of all else.

Robbie put on the kettle and started tidying the living room and kitchen before shoving the Hoover about. He really ought to sort out a new cleaning lady and not expect James to do it all, especially with the broken arm and all. He wondered what had happened to James’ own cleaning lady, whether she was still going to his hardly used flat. Before Molly arrived he had been spending most nights with him, although weekends had been at James’ flat, James complained about his ill equipped, badly stocked kitchen all the time. Not anymore, obviously, as half of all the fancy gizmos appeared to be here. Lewis had lost his cleaning lady the morning after the first night James had stayed; they were still in their non-sexual just cuddling stage following the attack on James. She’d just seen James’ clothes and the blood on the sheets and put two and two together and made five, quitting in a self righteous, ‘Christian’ homophobic rant.

He stripped the bed and shoved the sheets in the machine, made the bed and climbed in, still yawning, and fell back asleep.

*

He was awoken again by his phone ringing. He stumbled out of bed to where it was on charge.

“Lewis.”

“Inspector Lewis. Where are you, you’re due in court in half an hour!” snapped Angie Laxton in her ‘Innocent’ voice.

“What time is it?” but he had already looked at his alarm clock. “Bloody hell, on me way.”

“Everything thawed slightly last night, and then froze. It’s an ice rink. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

“Thanks.”

*

Procedurally it was a straightforward court appearance. Mark had pleaded guilty, which made things easy. Hooper gave a brief statement as the officer who took the statement, as did Baynes, and then it was Lewis’ turn as the arresting officer. Of course he was asked about his relationship, and after explaining about the extraordinary situation due to the heavy snowfall and closure of roads, he was offered the sympathy and understanding by the chair of the three magistrates on the bench. Mark was remanded into custody pending his Crown Court case. He didn’t look at his Dad once, just sat staring at his hands in his lap. He looked as white as a sheet with huge bags under his eyes. Cox had decided against methadone, merely prescribing anti vomiting tablets, sachets of electrolytes and painkillers for the pain and fever. Lewis watched his son led away feeling numb, as if he had felt too much and had nothing left inside him. Hooper stood at his side, sympathy personified.

“Cup of tea, Sir? DI Laxton said Innocent wants you to take the rest of the day off, you know?”

Lewis looked blankly. “Does she?” It was news to him, but then he’d barely shaved and got into a suit and tie when Baynes had arrived to drive him to court.

“Come on,” Hooper took hold of Lewis’ arm and led him down the stairs and out of the Courthouse and up the road to G&D’s and sat him in a seat by a window before taking a place in the long queue behind tourists and students and bus drivers. He returned ten minutes later with tea and a bacon roll. “Eat, Sir,” he said.

*

James was looking harassed when Lewis arrived at James’ cousin’s place, a big, modern detached house in Marsden. He stood in the kitchen doorway just staring at his boyfriend, not quite recognising his former sergeant. James had his hair up in a totally unbrushed, fallen-out-of-bed way rather than artful spiked style and was in a baggy old jersey over jeans. There was paint, glitter and glue on the jumper, and his cheek. His arm was out of the sling, which perhaps it shouldn’t have been, although he was resting his wrist on the kitchen table. Molly was sitting at a high chair giggling and sucking at the feet of a naked Barbie doll while the two girls where bent over the kitchen table, Karen cutting paper and Lily gluing wing shaped cardboard covered in cling film, her tongue sticking out with the concentration. James was supervising them. A pile of books and what looked like school type worksheets were in a pile on a corner of the table, furthest away from the fevered, messy craft activity.

Robbie had been shown in by a sniffy Polish girl who introduced herself as the cleaner and left to go to the bathroom. Of Martha there was no sign.

“Uncle James’ boyfriend!” squealed Lily, jumping down and hurling herself at him. “Spin me around again. Do the spinny thing. Now!”

“It’s Robbie,” Karen in a superior fashion, before sliding off her chair and launching herself at him, arms and legs clinging to his torso. He found himself stuck with two girls treating him as a climbing frame expecting to be span until they felt sick. He really wasn’t in the mood.

“Uncle Robbie,” James corrected. “How are you doing?” he asked, watching, worrying about his boyfriend’s back as a girl hung on to each arm held rigid in the air.

“Once only, I’ve had a hard time,” Robbie said and span them, their legs sticking out and girls squealing at full volume.

“What is all this noise? James, I thought you have...” Martha roared, stomping down the stairs from her office/studio. “Oh, hello Robbie. You look shit. Make him a coffee, James; what’s wrong with you, he’s nearly your husband. Look after him. Ela! Ela!”

“What?” yelled the surly young cleaner.

“I’ll pay you triple if you take the girls out. Take James’ sling and take the baby too.”

“I am cleaner not au pair.”

“I said triple, that’s £30 an hour.”

“Okay. I do under protest. In Poland we would smack such naughty girls. I spend half morning scrubbing bathroom of pink crayon.”

“You killed my mural!” screamed Karen.

“Out!” screamed Martha, going purple.

James took Robbie’s hand and pulled him out of the room and up the stairs to the guest bedroom. He shut the door on the sounds of the girls screaming about toboggans and Ela protesting about the baby as well and Martha just sounding like a woman on the edge of a breakdown.

“Her deadline for the Spring collection was Friday,” James explained.

“What does she do?”

“She designs for a High Street chain. She was born to be a dress designer.”

“Well, the roads are clearing. Schools should be back tomorrow. Ready to come home pet?”

“Oh yes. You bet!” James sat on the bed. Robbie sat next to him and wrapped his arms around him. James winced.

“Not hurting you, am I?”

“Bit sore, but I’m okay? How are you?”

“Had better days. Just been in court to see Mark charged and remanded. We’re chasing everything, forensic and drugs, but no lead on Nadia’s killers. They’ll have shipped out somewhere else now. Find some other stupid addict to use.” Robbie was surprised to find there were tears in his eyes again. He started to dash them away, angry with himself, but James gently wiped them away with his thumb.

“My Dad was a petty crook as well as a bastard. Wasn’t Grandpa’s fault. He was a good man, a very good man; the last very good man in my life until you. You are a good man and a good parent Robbie. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Robbie put his head in his hands and leant forward, making an anguished sound, almost like a wounded animal. “God, I can’t do this, I’m too old. She’s going to be difficult, that’s what they said. But I can’t let her go into care, she’s me flesh and blood, and I keep asking meself, what would Val want.”

“For her granddaughter to be safe and loved, of course. Robbie, I’ve said I’ll take a year out, and if, when I’m due to go back, she’s too hard for you to cope with...” James shrugged. “Molly’s the important one here, not you or me.” He put his hand under Robbie’s chin and lifted his head to look at him and kissed him gently. “You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What in God’s name have I done to deserve you love?” Robbie held James tightly again and kissed him deeply.

When they broke apart James snorted with laughter, “I ask myself the same thing about you everyday.”

“Soppy lad,” Robbie said, pushing James back, more play fighting than seductive and started to tickle him. James tipped his head back and laughed, laying his left arm back to rest the cast on the pillow. Just then they heard Molly screaming, her sounds getting louder and louder.

“Sorry, excuse me, but Martha wants to work and I take girls out,” Ela wordless shoved Molly into Robbie’s arms.

“Dah dah dah dah!” Molly yelled, pulling at Robbie’s hair. He held her closer and kissed the top of her head.

Ela looked sulkily at them before she left, slamming the door in true teenage fashion.

“She doesn’t like anyone, I’ve been here just over 24 hours, which was enough to realise that she is barely a child herself. But Martha sees her as a treasure.”

“Well, she’s lucky, a pretty lass like that in England to make her fortune, it could be a lot worse than coping with those monsters of your second cousins. Talking of treasures, what’s happened to your cleaning lady?”

“Oh God, she was supposed to come last Thursday. I haven’t...”

“Want to offer her work at mine, and when we find a house, at ours? I’ve been a bit stupid thinking you could do it all, when...”

“I want to.”

“Molly will take up all your time. That is, if you don’t think that your cleaning lady will desert us like mine did?”

James had been there when she quit, had been called almost every homophobic name under the sun, along with a few choice phrases and words normally used to describe women of a certain reputation. He thought of the placid Mrs Hiscock, in her fifties, a fussy lady who had been cleaning other peoples houses for years. Nothing shocked her, and the first time she had cleaned the flat after Robbie had stayed over she’d left a note saying she noticed he had got himself a fella and make sure the man looked after him. And unlike Robbie’s mouthy cleaning lady she was a real Christian, a lay preacher at her Methodist church and a regular volunteer with the Churches Together soup kitchen. Now he said,

“She’s very busy, she has lots of clients and with her voluntary work she has little time. I can ask, of course.”

“Good. Shall we go? Or are you going to the meeting like that?”

“Would it matter if I were, now? I’ve a broken arm and...”

“You can shave at least man, what are doing, turning into a lazy slut?”

James pouted and sat up, folding his arms. “My arm is broken.”

“Your wrist.”

“Wah!” said Molly.

“Exactly,” Robbie said. “Let’s get your Daddy presentable, eh pet?”

*  
The roads were turning to slush as Robbie drove them to the John Radcliffe, James in a suit and tie, shaved and made up and arm in a sling. They parked what felt miles away from the main entrance on level 2 and slipped and slid down the hill, Robbie carrying the car seat. Molly was now asleep. They did not speak, but as they walked down the corridor they suddenly, without a word to the other, or even a look, found themselves holding hands.

Look at me, thought Robbie, forty odd years ago I’d have never admitted to this possibility, people would have kicked the crap out of me, and here I am, not giving a shit at who is staring at me holding hands with my boyfriend. When I was at school and thinking so much about Stuart and me I was bloody terrified but then I took Diane out and it was fine, then I met Val and...

But actually, no one was looking, no one was giving them a second thought as they walked down the corridor hand in hand. They went past a woman in a long great coat and grey beanie leaning heavily on a walking frame while a child of about thirteen trailed past with her wrist in a purple cast like James’. Despairing, at her wits end, the child’s mother snapped at her daughter for swinging her broken arm instead of having it in the sling. The child immediately began to wail that she had shouted and punched her own head. Robbie had, only a few years previously, attended a particular course, having felt his knowledge was lacking following his time with Philip. The course had been about recognising autism spectrum disorders in witnesses, suspects and arrestees and how to communication with and support them. He could see clearly the girl was autistic to some level, maybe ADHD too, the way she was moving and unable to look after her own broken arm....

Developmental disorders, that’s what they said. Like ADHD. ASD. Learning delay. Language acquisition delay. The works. But James was convinced Molly was clever, ordering her little world into systems, recognising shapes and making sounds to match words. But as he kept thinking, James was besotted.

James squeezed Robbie’s hand tightly, the last time they’d been in the main meeting room of the Social and Health Directorate his whole miserable childhood had been laid bare for everyone to examine and poke and prod and pronounce him a failure and a nutter. He had not spoken to anyone directly like Robbie, so he only had his boyfriend’s word for how far things had moved in a week. He sighed deeply, taking a deep breath and centring himself as they walked into the room. Robbie chose the same seats they had last time. The same fat woman was chairing the meeting, and Dr. Peter Mckay was there, as was Dr. Sayer, the paediatric expert in babies and drug addiction. Nicola Wing was there but of the two assessing social workers there was no sign, nor his own GP.

“Robert, James. So glad you’ve both made it. I appreciate how things have been difficult for you both. Right, now we are all here let’s remind ourselves who we all are, so much had happened in the last few days, and thank you everyone for agreeing to come forward two days for the meeting’s reschedule. I appreciate how busy you all are. Right, I’m Sandra Chalk, senior manager at Oxford’s Children and Family Social Service Division, you are,” she turned this time to her left rather than her right.

“Robert Lewis, natural grandfather of Molly, planning to adopt her.”

James, who had just been struggling to get the now awake Molly out of her car seat one handed looked up, slightly surprised it was his turn so quickly, “James Hathaway, Robbie’s partner and this is Molly,” he said, holding her up. She grinned on cue.

“Bah bah crah!” she said incomprehensibly.

“Thank you James. How lovely to see Molly looking so well and cared for, such a difference to last week. I understand you are taking a year from work to care for Molly?”

“Yes,” James sighed, “maternity leave.”

“And you are happy with that?”

“I offered.”

“Good. Right, moving on,” Chalk turned to the woman at the top of the table, “And you are?”

“Hi. I’m Dr. Henrietta Sayer, consultant paediatrician here at the JR with a specialized interest in addiction. I treat all babies born dependant on heroin in the county. I will monitoring Molly for the first few years of her life until we realise the extent of the damage and what special needs she has and what support she will need in school.”

“Hello, I’m Peter Mckay, the Lewis’ GP.”

“Hi, I’m Nicola Wing. I’ve been assigned as Molly’s social worker and I’m supporting the adoption.”

“Right, where are we with that?”

Nicola and Lewis began to speak and the same time, and with a smile he indicated than she go ahead.

“Kenneth Mark Lewis, the biological father, following the death of his wife, has signed the papers releasing his daughter from his parental control. I believe Robert Lewis has filled in the court papers for the adoption application of his daughter today.”

“And is that for you or for both of you?”

“I filled in the paperwork for both of us, but I’ve just got James signature an hour ago. I’ve not posted the papers, I thought I had to wait for this meeting. Last Wednesday you were threatening to take my granddaughter into care.”

“I dispute the phrase ‘threaten’ Robert. We had concerns, mostly legitimate concerns, which have been addressed and proved unfounded. Does anyone have anything else to add?”

“I’m perfectly happy with how Molly’s being cared for and see no risks and no need for our involvement, to be frank. It might be useful to touch base just before the court hearing, but I can’t see why.”

“I’m sure, Nicola, you have enough cases to occupy you. So be it, we support and recommend the residency and care of Molly Lewis to her grandfather and his partner and we fully endorse and support their adoption of her. I think that’s it,” Sandra Chalk began gathering up her papers. “Good luck, both of you.”

Stunned at the difference James carried Molly back out into the busy corridor and down to the WRVS tea shop, following Robbie, carrying the car seat and their coats. Robbie dumped the lot on a chair and went to fetch something to eat while James bounced Molly on his lap. She was getting restless. As she grew stronger she slept less and grew bored easily. Taking his left arm from its sling, James pulled out a board book from the changing bag and began to point at the pictures of the white cat moving through the cabbages, stalking a mouse and scattering butterflies.

“Dah!” Molly shrieked. James looked up.

“Look who I found,” Robbie said, putting down a tea, a coffee, two corned beef rolls and two sticky buns.

“Hello,” said Hobson. “I have a feeling I made a bit of a prat of myself James, the day of the last meeting.”

James sniffed before speaking, “You’d had a fair bit to drink. True,” James said carefully. “Want a cuddle?”

“Oh yes!” she said, sitting down next to James and taking Molly.

“Go to Auntie Laura.” Molly immediately squirmed and screamed so she passed her straight back to James who struggled with her one handed so Robbie came to the rescue,

“Come to your Dad, pet. Don’t hurt Daddy’s arm.” He walked away, up the corridor, pointing at the pictures on the walls for sale to raise funds for the SCBU. He had been aware of every eyebrow in hearing distance rise at what he’d said. Better get used to it and ignore it, he decided, and idly wondered if it would bother Molly when she was older, at nursery, at school, as a teenager. God, that didn’t bear thinking about, Molly a hormonal teenager, him in his 70s and James in his 40s. By the time she was 21 he’d be 80, if he was still around. And James? 52! Still younger than he was now, younger than he’d been when he’d met the lad. Oh but God, this was wrong, but it felt so right. He’d loved no one as much, except Val, and as for Molly, what choice did she have? Two loving gay parents, even one so old, was far better than a life in care, moving from foster home to foster home, care home to care home, all her few belongings and clothes in a bin bag. He knew what it was like, didn’t so many of the poor sods end up the wrong side of the law, with no one to show them the right way.

When he returned James was eating his roll and having a stilted, awkward conversation with Hobson. He looked up with sorrowful eyes as Robbie returned.

“I’ve been telling James about Nadia,” Hobson said briskly. “I assumed you had.”

“Well, I had, but I was upset about it all, maybe I hadn’t made it clear.” He held James’ gaze steadily.

“Well,” said Hobson, rising to her feet, “I can see you boys have things to discuss.” She walked away, barely acknowledged. She’d gone and put her foot in it; that was for certain.

Robbie watched Laura leave and the turned to James and smiled awkwardly. Although he’d told him already, that other morning in hospital, James had obviously still been too groggy with the bang on the head or painkillers or something. He sat down. Molly held out her arms, wriggling and yelling, until Robbie had carefully got her settled on James lap with him supporting her one handed. She snuggled into him, sucking his suit jacket lapel, quietening down and drifting off to sleep. Robbie tried not to feel jealous of his boyfriend’s rapport with his granddaughter. He reminded himself that they were adopting, together, that she was their daughter now, not his granddaughter. Not only that, he had persuaded James to give up work, to take this – what, mother? – role. He had no more right to be jealous than he was of Val’s rapport with their kids when they were young.

“We need to talk,” James repeated quietly over Molly’s snuffled snores. The quiet voice gave emphasis to his anger rather than diminished it.

“I did tell you. About Nadia’s baby. I did tell you.”

“Yes. I do remember. I know I’ve been out of it for a couple of days, but I do remember waking up in hospital to you being there. I remember all you said, Robbie. And I’m sorry.”

Robbie felt awkward suddenly; guilty, crashing out over James like that, asleep over his injured body. “Should I have not...?” He cast a look around. People were drinking coffees and teas, eating sandwiches and cake: looking for all the world as if they were going on with their lives and not eavesdropping. Nonetheless, ever since he had arrested his son to an audience of Christmas shoppers he had had the slight, uneasy feeling of being watched, judged even, but mostly just of being watched vicariously, as if he and Molly and James were part of some titillating form of entertainment. He lowered his voice. “I need you James. This has all been too much. Much too much.”

James so wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him, but with Molly held by one arm and the other in a cast he was powerless. “I know. I know it has. And I’m sorry, but I would have liked to have heard it from you first.”

“Heard what?”

“That you named him. That you want him buried separately.”

Robbie cursed Laura under his breath. “I’m not sure I do. It was just, you know, an option. I don’t think so much now. Together will do. What do you think?”

“I think they should be buried together. But a name on the head stone, with hers, if that’s what you want. But shouldn’t Mark chose the name? It’s a weird name.”

“It was Morse’s,” Robbie said fiercely.

James nodded. “I know,” he said.

Robbie stared at him for a long while, a hard, scrutinizing stare. “You deduced it,” he said finally.

“No,” James said simply, but Robbie knew from the way James’ face had shut into its blank mask he would get nothing more in the way of an explanation so didn’t bother in wasting his breath pursuing it.

“I have to organize the funeral,” he said instead, simply, out loud for the first time, acknowledging it to himself for the first time. He looked at it, the revelation; a funeral, mere weeks before the anniversary of Val’s death with his son in prison and unable to contribute and he heading up the investigation into Nadia’s – into his daughter-in-law’s, Molly’s mother’s – murder. “But I can’t,” Robbie said after a long pause of thinking it all through. All the while James’ pale eyes just regarded him with sympathy, understanding and love. He had been silent, patiently waiting, but now he spoke, awkwardly.

“Do you want me to?” James offered, not knowing the first thing, presuming he could Google all he needed to know, find all the information and advice he would need. He knew about conducting funerals from his training in the seminary, but from the other side he knew next to nothing.

“Would you pet? Could you? Really?”

“That’s what I’m here for, right? To support you, to help you? That’s what relationships are for. You said,” James added uncertainly, looking a little worried, afraid he had misinterpreted something. It was what Robbie had told him time and time again, that he was there for James through all the guilt and trauma around his childhood, the rape, his faith. In a way he was glad he could be equally supportive, even if he was out of his depth. He hadn’t had any direct experience with relationships, this being his first apart from a sick, abusive one as a child with Augustus. His parents hadn’t been the best example, either.

Robbie caught the uncertainty and nervousness. He picked up James’ left hand, half hidden as it was in its purple cast, and caressed the fingers, noting the engagement ring was still on. He sighed and began to twist the ring so that the diamonds sat once again on the top of his hand, showing the ring for what it was. “Yes, love” he said sadly, “they are. And thank you.”

They looked at each other. Molly stirred and coughed and settled again. Robbie broke their gaze and stood up and took her from James gently, careful not to wake her. “Let me put her in the car seat. Your coffee’s cold. Do you want another, love?”

James drained his coffee, hardly wincing at all. “I’m getting to quite like cold coffee,” he said. Robbie smiled up at him from settling Molly. He straightened up and wordlessly put James’ arm back in its sling as James asked, “What do you want?” Robbie didn’t answer immediately, just sat down and ate his corned beef roll. As he ate, he thought about the last cold December funeral he had arranged. There had been snow then, too, although not so much as now, and maybe none until Boxing Day. Not that he had noticed Christmas. It was too painful so he changed the subject.

“Can you sort out the legal stuff for Mark too, bit dodgy, me doing it. Don’t you have an old school mate...?”

“Who’s a barrister. Yeah. But it’s not straightforward. He has to take instructions from a solicitor. Besides, he doesn’t do criminal law. I’ll ring him, get him to recommend both a good barrister from his chambers and a solicitor here to instruct.”

“And invite him to our wedding reception,” Robbie added, laughing wryly at James’ scowl. It was a painful laugh, he had been too miserable for a while for a genuinely happy one. “You’ve told no-one, have you?”

James shrugged. “Martha knows.”

“Now she does. Tell him. Invite him. Is he Catholic?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Well then.” Robbie looked down at his plate, chasing crumbs and licking his finger. He painfully cast his thoughts back to Nadia and her proper dues. “Can you find out if Nadia can be buried next to Val at St. Frideswide’s? I’ll give you the vicar’s number. And see Mark, check what he wants for her.” He shrugged. “What she believed, I suppose, too. Can you do that love?”

James stared. See Mark, he thought, inwardly shuddering at the memories of the fist, the kicks, the slap, the homophobic taunts and insults, the violence so close to Molly. “Can I do that?” he asked. “Will they let me?” he added, hoping not. He would gladly arrange the funeral, find a good defence counsel, but talk to him? Not likely!

“You’re his stepfather,” Robbie said bluntly.

James stared, horrified. Stepfather! To that! Despite Lyn’s jokey texts he hadn’t really thought of it like that. Robbie had laughed at Lyn’s text and yet now he had just stated it, in all earnestness, in all truthfulness. And yes, in a manner of speaking, yes he was, for all he was eighteen months older and for all his disapproval of him and also, secretly, the fact he was faintly afraid of him.

James shivered, thoughts that highlighted the age difference sometimes terrified him; the huge amount of sheer living Robbie had done before he was even born: the long, lonely years ahead of him when Robbie was gone. Probably. James looked down at Molly asleep in her car seat. Not alone, not now. One day he could even be a real grandfather, now, not a step one. He hoped. Providing Molly didn’t reject him when she found the truth of her origins, choosing Mark over him and Robbie. James shivered again, how horribly complex, messy and emotional his life had become in the last six to seven days. And yet, how simple, as if everything telescoped down into a single, all consuming focus of his life: Molly. He’d always felt he was meant for Robbie Lewis, slowly coming to accept his feelings and his sexuality over the past five years as he’d come to believe Robbie Lewis was the very reason for the strange journey of his life: becoming his DS, then his friend and then his lover and now, finally this – giving up everything for Molly. And everything for Robbie, to, where, ‘I learnt love – love that is not troublesome/ Whose service is my special dignity’...

Closed in, lost in confusing thoughts and feelings, James wasn’t aware of Robbie standing, Robbie holding him tightly, of his own tears. But he leaned his face into Robbie’s chest and sobbed, Robbie stroking his hair and holding him, here in this very public place of the hospital’ volunteer run coffee shop.

“Is he okay?” James heard someone ask, an older woman. “Can I help?”

“It’s okay. Well, not really. We’re adopting my granddaughter and James has been great but we started to talk about funerals and... Damn!” Robbie broke off as his voice began to crack.

The woman put a solicitous hand on Robbie’s arm. “Can I get either of you something? A cup of sweet tea? A glass of water?”

James looked up, his eyes stinging. She was one of the volunteers from the coffee bar, eighty if a day; sympathetic, lovely and unshockable, just keen to help.

“A glass of water would be nice. Thanks. I think my partner needs another cup of tea.” James sniffed judiciously. “And for me to pull myself together, he’s enough on his plate.”

“Hits you for six. I’ve been widowed twice and last years I lost my stepson and his girlfriend. Drunk driver ran them off the road. You just have to get on with it, don’t you?”

“My wife was killed in a hit and run,” Robbie said numbly.

“But you have a lovely boyfriend now,” she replied, then bit her lip, worried that she’d made assumptions when there were none to be made. The older one grinned feebly.

“I’ll get that tea and water,” she said, much relieved. Age difference was something people judged, she knew, but if it worked, it worked. These two, though, would get double the malicious judgement too. It had been bad enough with her own children when she’d married her second husband, twenty years her junior, widowed with a baby son. She had never expected to out live both, having lost her first husband to cancer when her own children had been young. If her life had taught her anything it was that you had to count your blessings, such as they were, and take life as it came.

Both men were composed when she returned, the lovely baby girl now awake on the younger man’s lap. He was going to be the ‘mother’, that much was obvious. She briefly worried about the bruised face and broken wrist, but couldn’t believe for one second that the rather nice Geordie gentleman had anything to do with it.


	12. Prison visiting and bad memories all together add up to a pile of stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James visits Mark at the remand centre, Aylesbury. He comes home in a foul mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does have some references to James' past childhood sexual abuse. I've kept the teen rating as teenagers (and children for that matter) are exposed to such information via newspapers and 24hours news media. There is nothing a teenager wouldn't be exposed to in a PD lesson, a book on puberty and growing up or plenty of fiction for teenagers.
> 
> If it will make you feel uncomfortable, then stop reading after Lewis comes home.

James bit at his skin around his thumbnail eyeing all the others at this remand centre, waiting to visits husbands, boyfriends and sons. Skinny women in micro minis and bare legs, despite the snow, wearing far too much make-up and badly dyed hair. Fat women in track suits and fleeces, bleached ponytails pulling at the skin on their face giving them a skull like, bad face job appearance that just looked too painful for words. Babies were grizzling and screaming in buggies, clutching bottles and toys while older toddlers were crawling and running, bored and restless, all with snotty noses and eyes older than their years. One child in a dirty buggy was drinking cola from a baby bottle. James hated to think of the damage to his milk teeth, or brain development if it were sugar-free. Dr. Sayer had warned him off sugar-free drinks in no uncertain terms, indicating research into neurological conditions worsened by the Phenylalanine.

There were also older women in smart but cheap frocks and coats, probably from Primark, James thought, no teeth and badly dyed hair to hide the grey and much too much cheap 9-carat jewellery, probably from Argos, no doubt. James hated himself for his gut snobbish reaction, but he was in a room full of women that represented everything he had run from, everything he had worked so hard with scholarship and Cambridge to never, ever return to: grinding, miserable poverty, petty law breaking and ignorance. Everything his mother hated despite her obsessive love for his father. The snobbish disregard his mother had instilled in him and his school had magnified beyond imagining. What kind of priest would he have made in an inner city parish or a rural council estate, he briefly wondered, hating himself.

His senses too were overloaded, making him want to flee. Despite the overwhelming smell of nicotine and tar, a fog of cheap perfume, hairspray and deodorant rose in the hot, crowed room, along with the damp, sweet smell of children’s sweat and milk curds. All the women smoked, but the prison officer by the door did nothing despite the prominent no smoking signs. James, a confirmed nicotine head himself wanted to run out of this ante room and take Molly and her precious little lungs as far from this poisonous smog as possible. Three days ago he had admitted to himself he couldn’t cope but was never, ever smoking in front of Molly and started to wear nicotine patches. He was finding he was coping with the sleepless nights much better.

All the women eyed him with equal suspicions: the man with the gelled blond hair and make-up in expensive skinny jeans and black boots and a very expensive black wool coat. Two women thought they recognized him, a young woman leaning on her double buggy, scowling as she began to place him in a posh suit mutely standing in her front room as that bastard of a northern DI tormented her about her Steve.

A second woman had also been staring at him coldly since he had entered the waiting room with the dark baby. She then noticed the other woman’s scowl, realising that she too noticed him. Since she was not alone she decided to speak, “DS Hathaway,” she said loudly.

Nine pairs of hostile eyes glared at James, pressed in a corner by the exit, as far from the cigarette fog as possible, hugging tightly a wriggling, squirming Molly as she alternatively shook, jangled and chewed his car keys.

“Juh!” said Molly distinctly. “Dah dah!”

James stared back evenly; face a blank mask hiding his growing discomfort. “No,” he lied tightly.

“Yeah. You are. I recognize you. You were there when your boss arrested my man.” She strode across the room, pointing angrily. She had long dyed black hair, eyelashes so thick with mascara that it was as if four spiders had made their homes on her eyes, a black micro mini skirt under a black shiny puffa jacket with cheap fake Uggs on her feet over bare, goose-bumped naked white legs. “What are you doing her then? I thought the filth could just go straight through, proper front door, the works.”

“They don’t normally bring their kids in with ’em, do they?” a young black woman with a mixed race toddler asleep in her arms pointed out calmly. She didn’t want any trouble; just see her Steve. She smiled at James and the woman who had spoken; trying to convey that no one needed any hassles through the smiles. James gave her a tight little upturn of his lips in return. The woman in the puffa jacket and fake Uggs turned her head away, tossing her shiny black hair like a conditioner advert. Her hair flicked the sleeping child’s face in the small room. Her mother struggled to remain calm as she woke and began to grizzle.

James wasn’t aware how he pressed himself further into the wall. “I’m just here to visit my boyfriend’s son,” he said quietly.

“You arrested my husband,” the woman with the buggy said, a plump woman in bootleg cut trackies and a cheap, stained red coat. She had a sleeping baby and a toddler, he of the cola, in the double buggy and an older toddler pushing a car about on the floor. All the children were all strangely quiet in this waiting room and now their accusing eyes, all eleven pairs, joined their mothers’ and the other women’s.

“I’m not a police officer,” James repeated, looking across to the other side of the room to the prison officer who was studiously avoiding his gaze picking his nose. Just then the officer’s radio crackled loudly in his earpiece, loudly enough for everyone in the suddenly silent room to hear. They lost interest in James as the officer unlocked the door and let them into the visiting room.

“Fuh!” yelled Molly to the women’s retreating backs. “Fuh buh!”

“Molly!” James couldn’t help it; he exploded into a relieved snort of humour, although he knew he shouldn’t. Spending 15-20 hours a day with the mostly conscious Molly he’d begun to suspect that a lot of her sounds were ejaculations of frustrations and anger, that in essence the only communication skills she had so far picked up from her stressed, dysfunctional parents was how to swear with style. The third time she’d knocked down bricks and yelled, ‘dah fuh bluh!’ he was almost certain. Now he stood in the doorway a moment, taking a deep breath and sending a small prayer for courage before walking through the room and sitting at a table in the far corner by the door the prisoners had entered. He tried to smile at Mark, sitting opposite, but it didn’t really work.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, as he sat down, before he tried and failed to smile. It didn’t matter; Mark only had eyes for Molly.

“Duh!” she added. “Dah. Crah!”

“Does she know me?” Mark asked uncertainly. “I don’t want her too. I want her to be happy. Hey Molls, be happy, yeah?” He looked up from Molly to James and frowned miserably. “What are you doing here James? Where’s Dad?”

“He’s busy,” James replied, feeling awful for Mark, no longer afraid or even disapproving, but sorry for him, so sorry for him. He looked so ill and unhappy, and painfully thin and so like a young Robbie.

“Same as it ever was?” Mark snapped bitterly.

James really didn’t know how to reply so he changed the subject. “Was the solicitor okay? Have you seen your barrister yet?” he asked in a rush, desperate not to get into a row about Robbie Lewis’ parenting.

Mark shrugged and looked up, looking at James in the face, really looking up at James. He’d spent his time over the past few days in this place hiding how terrified he felt. He had a certain amount of kudos from many of the habitual offenders from the sheer level of the heroin smuggling he was charged with, and out of respect for the fact of his bereavement for his wife’s murder by the hand of a drug smuggling ring. These meant he had been left mostly to his own devices. However, he walked a tightrope as he was, when all said and done, a cop’s kid, the son of a DI who had put more than a few of the men in here, if not this time, then on previous occasions. And now here he was in the visiting room with James, visiting with the girlfriends and wives, his age and done up like a dog’s dinner with purple eye shadow, Tin Tin hair and skin tight jeans.

“Damn James!” he hissed. “You’ll get me a reputation as a fag, seriously not a good thing here. Look at yourself, you bloody obvious, poncy fairy. Does me Dad like you like that, eh? Dolled up like a bloody rent boy!” Mark raised his voice; others were staring, listening. “You fuck off and tell my Dad I want to see him and not his bloody toy boy!”

Molly began to scream as her father shouted. James stood her to rock her and was told to sit down in very direct, blunt terms by one of the prison officers.

“Your Dad can’t come here,” he said over Molly’s screams. “You know he can’t.”

“Tell him to leave,” Mark, standing up, shouted at the guard who had been so rude to James. “Tell him I want me bloody Dad not his bloody bitch!”

James visibly flinched at Mark’s homophobic rejection, remembering again the pulled hair, the smack, the gun butt cracking his head. He stood to leave. He would tell Robbie he had tried. He couldn’t stay here a second longer. He couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. Molly’s screaming had subsided into her pitiful wail of her first few days with him and it felt like the sound was going right through his brain and searing it.

Mark was told to shut up in no uncertain terms and both men were directed to sit down again. They both sat, glaring at each other. Mark was feeling angry, rejected by his father and more than a little afraid of what James would do to his reputation. James had to remind himself he was a police officer and he had faced down far worse than Mark in many a situation. All the white Molly yelled in his ear. James desperately jiggled her and bounced her and shushed her.

Finally Mark broke the tension between the two men. “I’m sorry James. I know you’re just trying to help. Just don’t dare try to replace me Mam, alright?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sorry too. Maybe we should have made it clearer in the message it would be me visiting, not Robbie.”

Mark shrugged. “It’s okay. I assumed, that is all.” He paused, looking down at his hands. Finally he broke his sad silence, “Why did Dad send you then, eh? Just to ask about the lawyers? They’re both okay. I think I’m going with diminished responsibility or something.”

“Are you okay Mark?”

“No,” he snapped abruptly. “Next fucking question.”

James sighed deeply and glanced up, seeking strength from his Creator. “I’ve come about Nadia. We’re organizing the funeral and... well, I am organizing the funeral and I wanted to know what you want, what she would have wanted? What she believed?”

Mark stared; eyes now burning with unshed tears. “We believed in each other. We loved each other. Nadia didn’t have a nice, religious upbringing with two nice parents.” Mark’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Before he could stop himself James had snapped in reply,

“Nor did I, you know? If you only fucking knew half my childhood you wouldn’t feel so bloody sorry for yourself. Robbie loves you. Your Dad loves you! And for your information, one, I do not want to be here, I’m doing this for Robbie – for your Dad. And two, he hates my make-up. He thinks I’m hiding, a lack of confidence or something. I’m hiding my fucking bags and blotchy skin because your daughter does not sleep because you put fucking heroin in her milk!”

Mark snorted out a humourless laugh, “Welcome to mine and Nadia’s world. Yes, we were shit parents, but we loved her. I love her. We tried to go cold turkey for her, so many times James you wouldn’t believe. And I know my Dad is a good parent, it’s why we were so desperate to get Molly to him. And now Nadia’s gone and I’m in here coz we just fucked up yet again.” Mark paused, gulping back a sob. He could not cry here, in front of the other inmates and prison guards. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and began again,

“I’m sorry for being such a homophobic git James, but honestly, maybe Dad is right. Mam never bothered, unless she was going out to some posh do. But what do I know? Straight blokes wear make-up these days, don’t they? Politicians and businessmen in the boardroom. Californians and metrosexuals. Sorry. Changing the subject, mate. I’m sorry I made you lose it, okay? You must be bloody knackered. Her screaming goes right through your head, I know.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay, too. Molly! Please shush!”

“Quiet Molls. Me and your new Dad have to talk about Mummy going to heaven.”

Molly stared at Mark, “Crah crah!” she yelled, then grabbed James’ hair and tugged hard, but at least she had stopped screaming.

“Will she James? You’re the ex priest? Go to heaven?”

“I was never actually ordained, but I don’t know. God’s Grace and Mercy knows no bounds. But I don’t really believe, really. Not in the same way. Not in the Church.”

“Really? Nadia wanted to believe in all the Aboriginal things, all the traditions. We learnt the stories together. I need to cut myself, I need to blood let to mourn her, to honour her spirit, to free her soul...”

“You don’t need to cut yourself,” James said, horrified. He struggled with Molly as she squirmed. She wasn’t easy to control with one arm in a cast, even now when his shoulder was healed and his wrist was nowhere near in the pain in had been.

Mark shrugged. “It’s tradition.”

“And is it tradition to bury or cremate?”

“Bury.”

“Your Dad wants to put her next to your Mum. Would you like that?”

Mark looked down to hide the tears he could no longer prevent. “Suppose,” he mumbled.

“Did you know Nadia was pregnant?”

Mark looked up. “No. She never told me. Maybe she didn’t know. She wasn’t very regular, if you get me? We never knew until she was really fat with Molls. What... what was it?”

“A little boy. Your Dad named him, but I think it’s up to you to...”

“Oh, let Dad,” Mark interrupted. “It’s why we came back, to let Dad look after us, to make the decisions for us. Let him. He’s good at that. Us. Mam. Morse too, you know? He looked after that old sod so much sometimes we didn’t see him for days. Liked him, though. Morse. I think now, losing Mam so soon after Morse flipped him. I thought a lot, you know, about those days after Mam... went.”

“Morse was a good man,” James said, adding blankly, “So I hear.”

“Yeah. Well. Let Dad look after you. And you look after him too. Like Mam did. He’s a good man. A very good man. Too good to live up to. I failed him.”

“No. You can’t say that.”

“I just did, James mate. Look, I’m sorry we got off to a bad start like we did. I was crazy with grief, fear and cold turkey and it was the shock, you know? How the hell could I know my Dad was bisexual? But you are alright, mate, and good with Molly. So, you look after her, and take care of Nadia too.”

Just then a loud, discordant bell rang to signify the hour was over. Mark stood up with the other men. He reached out and briefly touched Molly on the top of the head, ruffling her curls.

“Love you my little mate. Be good for your new dads. Bye Molly pet.”

James smiled sadly but Mark didn’t return the smile, instead he just left with the other prisoners. James buried his face in Molly’s hair; aware he was so exhausted he was overcome with emotion again. Robbie was right; he was no longer angry and judgemental with Mark. He became aware that everyone of the women were staring again as they were leaving. The woman in the black micro mini with the bare legs hissed, ‘Filth!’ at him as she walked past. His face flushed with embarrassment under his foundation, on more to hide the fading yellow and green bruises that his bags under his eyes. He hated himself for losing his temper, for snapping at Mark. Everything was suddenly so complicated. He knew it, of course, in all the years he’d been in love with his boss he had known he had children his own age, but the reality was much harder to negotiate. Even with straightforward, accepting, heartbroken, abandoned Lyn. She’d wanted her Dad to move to Manchester. He’d put paid to that idea. Should he feel bad about that? Should he ring Lyn, let her know he had met he brother? Molly’s needs were all consuming and exhausting enough without having to worry about Mark and Lyn!

The procession of women, buggies and toddlers had filed out so James stood awkwardly and painfully, stiffened from his injuries, and stumbled. Molly chose at that moment to arch her back so she slipped and slid from his one armed grasp. He tried to catch hold of her with his broken left arm in its cast but she dropped, landing on the table with a bump and began to scream.

Suddenly the dark haired woman was there, picking up Molly.

“There you go, pig,” she spat out.

“Thank you,” he said, struggling with the wriggling Molly with his one good arm and having to accept more help.

“Your boss arrested my man,” she said.

James’ brain filed through recent arrests for the correct incident. “He was your pimp,” he said, finally recognizing her. “You should be grateful.”

“I love him and he wasn’t my pimp, not anymore. He looked after me. Who will now?”

“You can look after yourself pretty well from where I’m standing,” James said curtly, thinking ‘her man’ was sure as hell pimping for enough other women.

“Whatever!” she said and walked away, feet slipping in her cheap, badly made Ugg copies.

*

Once the still screaming, struggling Molly was safely strapped into her car seat James paced outside his car, smoking furiously, the head rush of his first cigarette in five days coupled with the nicotine patch making him slightly dizzy. That had been one of the most difficult hours of his adult life, and it wasn’t only Mark and the difficult, squirming, crying Molly. One usually made the arrest, filed the paperwork, sent it to CPS, waited for court and gave evidence and then was done. One didn’t sit in an airless, over heated, smelly room with them and their girlfriends. Two women had recognized him, but of the nine men who had come in with Mark, he had recognized three.

“Alright pig?”

James stopped pacing and looked up the steep slope of the car park at the approaching double buggy, the woman behind struggling with it on the steep camber and the ice. It was the woman in the red coat with the three children, both younger asleep, the third on a runner board looking as if he wanted to fall asleep too. James had arrested her husband for aggravated burglary, he remembered. He had pleaded guilty and had asked for seventeen other burglaries to be taken into consideration. He’d not planned on being violent, James remembered, and had been shocked that he had hit an old lady. Lewis had been very sceptical about the remorse, James remembered, he had a record an arm long for assault on his wife and two girlfriends, both of whom also had children by him. This was the wife.

“I’m not a pig,” James said huffily.

“Yeah, right. Mandy was right. I recognizes you, DS Hathaway.”

“Not anymore,” James said. “I just look after Molly, it’s all I ever do now,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He was shocked with himself, and struggled with the fact he sounded resentful. He wasn’t resentful, he argued with himself. He wasn’t!

“You were nice, I remember that. You and your DI. You were nice. He must miss you.”

“Not particularly,” James said, dropping the cigarette half smoked. It hissed in the slush. “I’m looking after him too. We’re getting married,” he smirked at the irony as he said it.

The woman thought about the Detective Inspector and his sergeant, forever bugging her for over two weeks, enough heat coming out of the unresolved sexual tension between the two of them to power the national grid. She grinned. “Cool. That’s cool, init? That gays can marry and that now. That the DI’s son, then, in the nick? Not good, is it?”

James shook his head. “No. No it’s not.”

“Better go. Miss me bus. See you then.”

“Bye,” James called vaguely, momentarily wondering what that was all about, but he was already getting into the car. Molly was positively purple by now with her screaming, arching her back in the car seat while hitting at and pulling at its straps. James had never left her alone for so long. As he started the car engine, hoping the movement would send her to sleep and give him a bit of peace, he heard a thump and then silence. He looked around, alarmed, and stopped the car. She had unstrapped herself somehow and had fallen into the foot well behind the passenger seat, where she sat, unharmed but stunned into a sudden silence. Very alarmed, James unbuckled himself and picked her up.

“Molly! That is a very clever thing to do but sometimes you can be just a little too clever for your own good!” As he hugged her he paused for thought, replaying what he had just said in his head. He could not believe he had just said that!

*

When Robbie got home he could hear Molly screaming in temper. Her toys were scattered everywhere and food all over the floor around her highchair, along with an upended beaker dripping apple juice into the carpet. He picked up the cup and started on the fingers of toast and pieces of apple and tomato. The crying stopped and Robbie could hear footsteps and snuffling. He straightened up, holding a handful of soggy half-chewed fruit in one hand and the beaker in the other.

“Leave it!” James snapped.

“It’s alright, I’ve got it covered.”

“I said leave it!”

Robbie looked at James, holding Molly in her hooded bath towel, James’ left arm covered to the elbow in Tescos carrier bags and sticky tape. Molly grinned at him and held out a hand. “Dah!” Robbie took a step towards them, holding out his arms.

“Hello love. Come for a cuddle, eh?”

“She’s not got a nappy on,” James snapped.

“I know.” He picked her from James’ arms and kissed her nose. “Hello pet. How was your day?”

“She needs a nappy,” James repeated in a nasty tone.

“I’ll do it.”

“No, I will.” James snatched Molly back one handed and stormed back into the bedroom with her.

Robbie sighed and considered following, but decided against it. James was growing more possessive by the day. He wasn’t sure if it was healthy, and he was certain that the social workers would think it highly unhealthy. Still, with the adoption papers signed and posted there was nothing they could do. In about three months, around the same time as their wedding, she would be legally their daughter. He carried on picking up food. By the time James had returned with Molly in nappy and pyjamas he had cleaned the kitchen, got the toys in the playpen, James’ coat and the baby sling in the hall cupboard and the oven on with oven chips cooking.

“I told you to leave it,” James repeated. He sat down on the sofa next to Robbie, who still managed to occupy the middle, despite James and Molly moving in. Robbie took Molly from him.

“Dah dah dah bah bah crah,” she said conversationally.

“Yes he is, pet.”

“Is what?” James snapped.

“Stressy. It was no bother pet.”

“You asked me to do this!”

“I asked you to look after Molly, not turn into a Stepford Wife. Which you are not, by the way. They don’t snarl. I take it that your meeting with Mark didn’t go well?”

“It was okay,” James said numbly.

“Really? I’m doing tea by the way.”

“You can’t cook,” James scoffed.

“I can heat up some oven chips and fry a couple of eggs. No, don’t turn your precious nose up at me. Eggs and chips is fine, once in a while. What has got into you pet?”

“I’m tired, that’s all.”

“I know. Come here, come one.” He put his arm around James’ shoulders and tried to pull him into a cuddle. James remaining intractable, stiff and unyielding, so tense Robbie could feel it through his arm. “James.”

“Don’t. I can’t.”

“Can’t what love?”

“Sex. I’m too tired.”

“Bloody hell man! I was giving you a hug. Our daughter’s in me other arm you stupid sod. What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” James hissed and got up and walked out.

Robbie put Molly down in her playpen and followed, ignoring Molly’s increasingly loud, demanding screams. Once in their bedroom he grabbed James by the shoulders. He winced and Robbie instantly let go of the left one but tightened his grip on the right.

“Look at me, James. Look at me.”

“No,” James said, pointedly looking at the cot.

Robbie sighed and let got of James’ shoulder. He spoke calmly, “Every touch does not lead to sex. You’re tired. So am I. You’re stressed. Well, guess what? So am I! Listen, I’m not Mortmaigne. I am not one of... of your father’s clients. I am not the Roschenkovs. I am your boyfriend and I love you. More, I’m you fiancé. If I want to hold you, touch you, kiss you, it’s to show love. Care. Concern even. You do understand that, I know you do, but you’re tired love and you don’t feel it. I know. I know love.”

“How do you always know, damn you? I didn’t even know myself, but now you say that and...” James walked away again, unable to continue.

Robbie decided against following him a second time. Instead he folded back the blankets on the cot and switched on the night-light before he went back to the living room. James was staring at mindless pre-school television while he was feeding Molly a bottle of soya formula when he returned. He ignored James and began to crack and fry eggs, two each. He halved a couple of tomatoes, as health insurance, and fried those too.

James joined him at the kitchen table, leaving a drowsy Molly on the sofa gazing at brightly moving images singing happy songs on the TV. He sat down as Robbie placed a plate of eggs, chips and tomato in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” James said quietly. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m quite useless of this sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Robbie asked, pouring them both a mug of tea and then joining him at the table with his own plate.

“Talking about... things, feelings. Sex. I’m not good at sex. I’m sorry.”

“James!”

“I know you’re patient with me, and sometimes you are not so patient. It’s just... I hated myself! I want you, I love you, but all I can do...”

“James love. You’re tired. Eat. Don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t dispute me, you don’t deny I’m crap at sex.”

“I’m not saying that. What do I know, I’ve only had sex with you and Val.”

“So I’m crap compared to her.”

“Did I say so? James, what has got into you?”

“Am I some kind of obvious, poncy fairy? Do I embarrass you? Dressed like a tart but frigid in bed? I don’t know what’s got into me but I don’t like being called your bitch, but I am, aren’t I? We don’t do anything else, do we?”

“James, you have issues, true, but I thought we were doing what you wanted. Aren’t we?”

“Well, what do you want?”

“James, I love you. I want what you want. I want what makes you happy, more, what makes you feel safe.”

“You make me feel safe,” James said, pushing chips about his plate, looking down. “And I like it. You inside me. I like it. But why? Because of what happened to me. Did it wire me up wrong?”

“You’re not wired up wrong, whatever that means.” Robbie sounded exasperated. He struggled to sound calm. “What do you want James? You’re tired. Let’s have a complete break from... you, know, making love. Alright? If that’s what you want. Why don’t you – I can’t believe I’m suggesting this – try counselling, eh? Look James, we tried other stuff. You know, when I first got you to touch me, you acted like you were six years old and I was making you. When I touched you first you locked yourself in the bathroom. You say some things hurt. Other... stuff, you, know, oral... you say it makes you sick. That you get flashbacks to being small. I can understand that. I’m no expert, there is probably other stuff we could try I know nothing about. What do I know, an old man who’s only been with a woman before? Maybe I’m a bit two dimensional in me thinking, and I’m sorry for that, if it bothers you. But James, we could try the other way round, if you like. Maybe it’ll do you good, show you you’re a man not a child, help you feel in control...”

James looked horrified. “I couldn’t,” he mumbled.

“Why? You say it feels nice. I know I’m a bit old for a change, but you know, I love you. I can tell you, from the other side, it feels bloody marvellous.”

“But I want... You make me feel safe. I want you inside. I want you to hold me, to... You make me safe. I only want... with you I want... What is wrong with me? I want... I...”

Robbie leapt up and hugged James, who buried his face in his chest and sobbed his heart out. Robbie stroked his hair and murmured soothing noises. Eventually James stopped and looked up.

“I used to pretend. I used to close my eyes and pretend I was older, with a man who loved me. God forgive me, as I knew it was a sin. Thought it was a sin,” James added quickly as he heard the sharp intake of breath from Robbie. “And I think Augustus did. Love me. In his own way. He made me feel special. The others... some just held me down and others... touched me, kissed me, stroked me and I would pretend. Just close my eyes and pretend. It’s weird, I never, ever thought of screwing anyone. Not as a teenager. Not as I was older. I tried not to have fantasies, you know, thinking I was going to be a priest, it wasn’t helpful. But when I did, I never thought of... Why? Am I missing some important bit of wiring or did Augustus do something to me? I would always get hard, and when I was old enough, I would always come. I hated it! It confused me. Did I like it then? But I hated it. You must believe me!”

Robbie realised he needed to say something. “Of course you did. You were a child. It wasn’t your choice, love.” He held James tighter and buried his own face in James’ hair, trying to ignore the fact his hair hadn’t been washed properly since his injuries. Stupid. He should have thought to offer...

Robbie forced himself to listen, feeling tears prickle his eyes. “One man started to beat me up. He wanted a little boy, I think, he didn’t like the fact I came. But that was against the rules, my Dad’s rules. No hitting, no marking, so Dad stopped him. Beat the crap out of him. Got extra money from him too.” James snorted. “See how my Dad loved me. His rules to protect me: no hurting, no bruising, only condoms... I know now, the hard ons, the coming, it was just a biological thing, but I still feel like a tart.” James took a deep breath and paused before he went on,

“I went to that remand centre no better than half those women in their short skirts, low tops and high heels, was I? In my skin-tight jeans and make up, my hair gelled up. I told myself it was to hide the bruises, give me confidence, but I’m just a bloody tart.”

“You are not a tart,” Robbie got out; glad that James had paused for breath and he could say something constructive, something supportive. He felt sickened, sick to the pit of his stomach and angered by what he had just been told. In all their time together James had never given him so many details.

“Not anymore,” James replied bitterly.

“You never were, James, you were an abused child. It wasn’t your fault, none of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not. Your. Fault. Love. I believe becoming a parent brings it all up for lots ofsurvivors. But it’s not your fault love, and you are not a tart and certainly not my bitch, whatever that means. Did my son call you that? I can’t believe he’d be so...”

“It’s okay. He was fine, honest. I’m just tired, like you say. I don’t want to make you angry.”

“I’m not angry with you, pet. Mark, yes. Bloody furious. And guilty, I made a bad mistake with that lad and we’re paying for it now. And I’m angry with Mortmaigne, those other bastard paedophiles and mostly your father. Because you are right, if that is your definition of a crap dad then I’m not. Just a stupid one. And as for... bed, we can work that out as we go along, we’ve all the time in the world. As long as,” Robbie tilted James’ face up to look at him as James was hunched up in his chair, looking down. He touched James’ nose and wiggled it, “you let me hold you. Cuddling is good. It’s what you need you stupid sod. Eat your chips.”

“Actually, I’m too tired to eat.”

“Go to bed then, I’ll sit with Molly.”

“She’s asleep.”

“Well, quick then, off to bed. I’ll get her in her cot and join you.”

Once both men had brushed their teeth and got ready for bed and Robbie had tucked Molly up in her cot he reached over James who sat up, reading, and grabbed Panda.

“You need him tonight love. Cuddle both of us. I’d never hurt you.”

“You make me feel safe. I said.”

“Hooper saw Mark today, too. After you.”

“What?” James put his book down and looked at Robbie with his full attention.

“We’ve been getting some pretty good witness statements and photofit identities on the men from the Blackbird Leys address, plus more ID from the volunteers and some of the homeless from St. Giles. And here, too.” Robbie pointed to either end of the flat as well as above and below.

“I still can’t remember much, I’m sorry...”

“You won’t love, a bang on the head like that after the one Mark gave you. Don’t stress yourself love. Alec got Mark to remember the three men from the flat and the fourth who threatened him outside St. Giles. We’ve refined the computer idents. With the photofits plus the forensics we got from the murder scene and here we have identities from the PNC. We’re catch the bastards, if they’re still in the UK, Europe even.”

“How was Mark with Hooper?”

“Sad. Alec said just so sad. Depressed.”

“He loved Nadia. He said they believed in each other.” James told Robbie all that had gone on with him and Robbie’s son at the remand centre in Aylesbury.

“Sounds like you don’t hate him anymore, not blaming him for Molly.”

“No. I don’t know. He wants to see you, you know?”

“I can’t. Not ’til after the trial. It would prejudice the fair trial. I’m his arresting officer, my names on the bundle we sent to CPS.”

“Are you doing him for my assault too?”

“Nah. Dropped it. But don’t worry, when we catch Nadia’s killers we’ll nail ’em for you too. I thought you were... when I saw you, blood in your hair, unconscious, I thought...”

James awkwardly forced himself to put his arms around Robbie and pull him into a hug, feeling suddenly much less awkward as Robbie leant into him, resting his head on his chest. He held him tight and sighed, resting his cheek on the top of Robbie’s head, nuzzling into Robbie’s thinning hair.

“I love you,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I’m such a screw up.”

“You’re not, love. Just...”

“Damaged?”

“Did I say so?”

“You think it. It’s true.”

Robbie lifted his head and propped himself up by the elbow to better look at James. “It’s not your fault if you are. And I love you, James Hathaway, just the way you are, warts and all.”

“I don’t have any warts,” James protested, mortified at the idea, pedantic as ever. Robbie shut him up with a kiss.

After a while Robbie pulled away and looked down at James, who lay back sleepily, head on his pillow. “I mean it. We take a break from sex. Kissing, cuddling, touching only. You need to feel it’s okay to touch me, you know, without me telling you to or guiding your hands.”

James nodded sleepily and yawned. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Stop apologizing for things that weren’t your fault. You’ve come a long way and you’re doing fine, my bonny bonny lad. Now go to sleep.”

James yawned again and turned on his side, snuggling into Robbie, wrapping clingy long arm and leg around him. “Talking of touching,” he said sleepily. “Will you help me shower in the morning? I picked up this protective cover thing for my cast.”

“I wondered what the smell was,” Robbie joked.

“Bastard!” James said, giving Robbie a little punch on the arm before falling sound asleep.


	13. Interlude three: Naughty Fairies and Fallen Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2001, James is 22, Martha is 20.  
> 1994, James is 15, Martha is 13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warning as previous chapter. Discussion and description of childhood sexual abuse, suitable for 14+

It was pouring with rain on a late spring night. Half the lights in Morrell Hall were out and it was dark, too dark for him to easily locate the right block. Morrell Hall clung to the edge of Headington Hill, under Brookes University’s main campus and above South Parks. At just gone two in the morning the university was barely lit and of course the park was pitch black. Morrell was a collection of two and three story blocks of five to seven bedroom shared flats.

Eventually, after an hour of stumbling about in the dark, burdened by rucksack on his back, huge travel bag on his shoulder and pulling along behind him a suitcase heavy with books, and blinded by tears, he found the right block.

It was dark. Not a single room was lit. A window in the floor above her flat was open and he could hear music softly playing; trance music, something mellow, probably Orbital, he thought, or perhaps The Orb. In the flats behind him one room had a nightlight and laptop lit, casting an eerie green glow, but he could see no movements. He picked up a couple of small pebbles from the small flower garden between the two blocks. Aiming at what he hoped was the right window he chucked the stones.

They hit the window with a rattle.

“Martha!” he hissed.

He threw another small stone, this time with more force. It pinged against the metal window frame.

“Martha! Wake up!”

A light went on and a few moments later the curtains were pulled back and the window was opened.

“Dan! I said... Oh!”

She still looked ridiculously young, long fair hair in two plaits, eyeliner smudged around her face, dressed in a pink flannelette nightie. He was momentarily reminded of Rapunzal. Unfortunately he wasn’t her prince. In fact he was the one who could do with being rescued. No princes though, he was foresworn.

“Martha. It’s me.”

“James! Oh James! What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Can I come in?”

The window was closed and minutes later the front door was opened. She was bare footed but had covered her unglamorous nightwear in an equally chaste beige crocheted cardigan.

Sighing, James put on his rucksack, shouldered the huge bag and grabbed the suitcase by its carry handles rather than its pull-along one. He groaned with the effort. He followed Martha up the stairs and into her room. He gladly dumped his luggage. He’d been lugging it around with his around Oxford since eleven o’clock that morning, not having a clue what to do or where to go.

“Okay?” asked Martha, staring intently.

“No.”

“Tea?”

“Please.”

“Make yourself at home.” She left to go to the kitchen.

James shrugged off his damp coat and kicked off his soggy trainers. He felt light, odd, just in jeans, a tee shirt and a zip up hoody. He’d grown accustomed at such a young age to dark suits or cassocks. He felt younger, less encumbered even as he felt terribly burdened. Guilty.

Despite his black mood curiosity got the better of him. Martha and he had always met in a cafe or a pub in the city centre since he’d come to Oxford, or sometimes at his uncle’s flat. It hadn’t been appropriate to visit her here, in a student room in a flat full of female students.

Ironic.

Pointless.

He picked up some sketches from her desk. Sublime. She was so good, wasted on mere, trivial fashion in his opinion. They were good old-fashioned life studies. She was obviously taking a class in classic life skills. The human form, the male form. He was probably a student model, making a little money. Unless, of course, he was in the class and volunteered. Could he do that, take his clothes of for money, or otherwise?

No.

Martha was so good. Some were in pencil, some charcoal and some ink. She captured light and shade on skin tone; shadow and the powerful feel of the man’s muscle, the amused sparkle or glazed boredom in the young man’s eyes, depending on the picture. He was beautiful, toned, handsome, rugged, masculine, naked, well...

James felt his skin flush as well as a more primal reaction. He hurriedly left her sketches on her desk and looked for a distraction. A rough outline of what may yet become a dress or tunic hung from her mannequin in shocking pick rayon. She had been busy. Pins, scissors, needles and cotton covered the other table, a smaller one containing her small, old-fashioned treadle sewing machine. They were almost covering...?

James reached out and pulled out... what?

It looked like chemistry, a litmus test paper. He picked it up. It showed a faint pink line.

“Positive,” said Martha from the door. She pushed the door closed with her hip and came in, putting the tray on the bed, desk and table already occupied. Two mugs of tea and a plate of toast and an opened jar of peanut butter with a knife stuck inside sat there. The smell of the peanut butter made James slightly queasy. He’d not eaten properly all day.

“Positive?” he echoed, confused. “Positive what? I thought all your modules were Fine Arts and Fashion Design? Not chemistry.”

“Oh Father James, you are so, so naive!” she teased sadly.

“Not Father...” he began.

“Not yet, yes, I know. I know James. Years away.”

“Not ever,” James said numbly.

“Oh shit!” She sat down and patted the bed. He sat beside her. “Do you want me to ask?” she said after a while of awkward silence.

“Do you want me to?” James retorted. “I’m not that naive!” Besides, he could now see the packaging of the home test kit in the bin.

“Who shall go first? I must confess, I’m dying to find out what’s going on with you. That’s my fifth test. I keep hoping it’s a mistake. But it isn’t. Damn you and your bloody gently evangelism all those years ago. And damn Daddy deciding to go home to the Church after Mummy... after Mummy!” Martha’s voice wobbled at the thought of her mother. Never before had she needed her so badly since years before her mother had died. After all, for years her mother had been a declining, wasting shadow of who she was in Martha’s infancy.

James was stung to take the blame, however gently and probably teasingly put. “I can’t tell you what to do, what to believe,” he said gently. He had to be supportive, that he knew, despite what she thought of him and his beliefs. “I wouldn’t condemn you, judge you, whatever you decide.”

“Thank you.” Martha looked down to hide the tears welling up.

“I have no right to. I’d support you, help you, go with you if you decide to... I’d keep it a secret, I’d never condemn you.”

“Well, aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves. Anyway, you might not condemn, but God would, wouldn’t He? Besides, never mind the new Catholic thing, I couldn’t on the way Mummy brought me up when I was little. I can’t kill it. I won’t. Not an option.”

Martha stared as James let out a relieved sigh, the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Sorry,” he said.

“I’m not really blaming you for me being a Catholic now. After we left Faringdon Dad went back, big time. Had me baptized, First Communion, the works. I had to go to Sunday School, get laughed at because I knew nothing. I wrote to you. You never wrote back..”

“I’m sorry. I should have. I meant to, but... things happened that Christmas.”

“I know James. I know. You told me then, that time.”

 

*

Martha had been referring to the previous time James had turned up in the middle of the night on her doorstep in the rain. Except, the doorstep had been that to her Dad’s and her flat and James had been with his Mum. It hadn’t just been raining then, it had been a thunderstorm on a hot, sultry, heavy August night.

James remembered. They had driven around Oxfordshire all day while his Mum thought, reviewed options. She occasionally muttered a family member or old friend’s name but rejected them. She wasn’t talking to him, he knew, so he had stared out of the window and tried to trust her. He hadn’t even known his mother could drive. He was fifteen years old and did not know whether his Mum could drive.

“Sorry Jon, we need somewhere to stay.”

“You’ve left the bastard?”

“Jon! He’s your brother. No, at least, not for good. He’s in a right state. James had him arrested.”

“James...?” Jon began, confused.

“He lost it,” Rose had said, and Jon had thought she had meant James until she had pulled her son from the shadows into the light of the doorway. Jon put a hand to his mouth. He knew his elder brother had a temper, but still! 

James stood, shivering, a drowned rat in denim cut offs and a baggy T-shirt with a fractal design on black.

“James!” Martha had shrieked from her bedroom door, which was by the front door.

“You’d have better come in then,” Jon said, making room for them and leading the way down the corridor.

“I’ll just get our bags and lock the car,” Rose said, turning tail. James was afraid she was abandoning him and his eyes nervously followed her.

“Come on in then,” putting a gentle hand to James’ shoulder and leading him to the living room. When James flinched he put it down to bruising. “Since you’re up baby, put the kettle on, yeah,” he said mildly to Martha, who had followed.

In the harsh light of the electric bulb in the living room it looked much worse. James had two black eyes, a split lip and worse, his arms and legs carried scars of belt and buckle welts along with some livid scars as if a cigarette had been touched to his arms and legs again and again.

“Shit James!” Jon said.

“Uncle Joe did that?” shrieked Martha. “Do something Daddy!”

James stood there, blank eyes, head bowed, patiently waiting for his mother to return, even if deep inside there was a little panic that she wouldn’t and his bag was in the car. All feelings however, he kept locked down to himself out of sight. He was good at that.

“Jamie love,” Jon said, arm reaching out to touch his nephew. He shrank back, flinching. “What happened then?”

James looked down and hugged himself tightly. As soon as Rose returned Jon grabbed her and pulled her into the kitchen and shut the door, leaving Martha with her cousin. In such a flimsy 1960s build council flat they heard every word.

“Jesus girl, you’ve got to take him to hospital.”

“I can’t Jon. I can’t. They’ll call the police and he already spent last night in custody. They let him go with no charge, but look at him, they’d...”

“Rose, baby, maybe he should be arrested. You look at him.”

“It’s a one off. He’s never beat him up before. Belt, yes, but not... not like me...”

Jon noticed then the livid bruises on Rose’s face and arm.

“Please Jon. He’s your brother. I came here because I know my family would insist I divorce him and the rest of yours would make me go straight back to him. I’m just too ashamed to go to any of my friends. I’d thought my sister who works at Crevecoeur Hall, but I can’t take James there and... I thought.... Look, Jon, you owe me, for Chrissie.”

“I owe you?” Jon echoed. “I think you were the one debt paying there.”

“Please!”

“What do you want Rose?”

“We just need a safe place to stay, until Joe’s calmed down. Seriously, that posh Inspector and his bloody Geordie sergeant are gunning for Joe. They’ll pick it up if I take him to any doctor in the Thames Valley, I swear!”

Jon thought Rose was sounding a bit paranoid and more than a little hysterical. He sighed and tugged at his ponytail, a nervous gesture. “Okay, fine. You can have my room; I’ll kip on the sofa. I suppose they’re too old, but James can have Martha’s bed. She can sleep on the floor. That poor boy’s not sleeping in anything but a bed. If it bothers you, you can have Martha in with you.”

Rose laughed harshly. “James is as bent as a nine bob bit! I wouldn’t bothering worrying about your daughter’s honour.”

Jon shrugged, glaring at his sister-in-law. “Maybe I was worried for your son, Rose. He’s a sheltered, public school boy and my daughter is a wild, hormonal teenager...”

*

In the living room James raised his eyes and they twinkled with dark humour as Martha huffed.

*

“...from a shitty state school.” He grinned, to show he was joking, although it was an accurate word to describe the school as far as he was concerned.

“She’s thirteen Jon.” Rose missed the irony and humour; she was too stressed and tired. “Besides, my son lost his honour. He’s been damaged goods since he was six years old.”

“Jesus! What are you saying? Is that why he went to the police? Are you saying my big brother’s a pervert? That he’s... he’s... with his own kid. Fuck off Rose. Out of my house. James can stay here, poor kid, coz yes, my brother has a temper on him and I know he hits you and belts the boy, but no... No! Jesus! Get out of here Rose...”

“You leave my mother alone!” James yelled, opening the door. “Dad has never laid a finger on me like that and she never said he did!”

“What? What?”

“It was at that posh manor house. The lord there. Before they came to stay with us. The summer Mummy... Mummy...” Martha said quietly from behind James. “Do you still want me to make tea Daddy?”

“Um. I’ll do it baby. Sorry Rose. Shock. Sorry. I’m so sorry. Last I heard James had run away from home.”

“The police brought him back yesterday and arrested Joe. He came home this lunchtime, drunk and angry. He’ll calm down.”

“No charge, you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. Do you want a bath James? Or some painkillers?”

“I just want to sleep,” James said numbly.

“Martha?”

“Sure.” She touched her cousin’s back gently to guide him. When he took off his T-shirt to put on one of her father’s to sleep in she saw why. His arms and legs were nothing to the red welts on his back. Martha tried not to stare but it was impossible. 

“Do they hurt?”

“What do you think?” James snapped, getting into Martha’s bed and pulling up her pink quilt covered with cartoon fairies.

Uncle Jon knocked on the door and came in with Martha’s sleeping bag – pink and purple striped – and extra pillows.

“Alright James? Can I get you some tea? Hot milk? You’re shivering, baby. I think you should take some painkillers, yeah?”

“I want my bag,” he said tightly.

“I’ll get it!” Martha ran from the room while Jon picked up sewing and sketches to make enough room for the sleeping bag. Before he laid it down he gently, inch by inch, pressed his bare toes into the carpet, checking for pins and needles. He found two and stuck them into Martha’s small stuffed pig pincushion she had made years before at school in her first year, which was Y2, Chrissie and Jon not really having settled down and sorted anything until she was six. Finally he picked up the few Barbie dolls that scattered the floor, the same ones James had resurrected three years before.

I don’t play with them,” Martha said, watching from the door, hugging James’ rucksack.

“No. You design them clothes. I know,” James said. As Jon made up the makeshift bed for his daughter and then left James began to pull old rag dolls and teddy bears from under the pink quilt. “Do you still need these to sleep?”

Martha flushed pink. She was thirteen, too elderly for soft toys.

“Well, anyway...” James began to lob them at her sleeping bag. They landed in a pile by the pillow.

Martha sat down among them and unzipped his bag. She pulled out a Bible and a prayer book and clean underwear and then his battered Panda, slightly damp and a bit smelly. “He needs a bath,” she pronounced, wrinkling her nose.

“In the morning!” James snapped, reaching out to grab it and as he did so he cried out in pain.

“James!”

“Okay. I’m okay,” he insisted before turning his back to her.

Just then Jon returned with two teas, a glass of water and two white pills.

“Swallow these babe, okay? They’ll help. Rose should have got you something.”

“Don’t have a go at my Mum!”

“Alright. I’m sorry. She’s probably so used to it she’s forgotten how to feel. Joe always had a temper, James, but he does love you and your Mum. Promise,” but Jon sounded uncertain.

Martha looked sharply at her father; her very clever but drop out, always-stoned father. She knew the story off by heart, how they ran away together instead of taking their ‘A’ Levels, joining the fledging punk/hippie Peace Convoy, protesting against all sorts of things, before driving across Europe, Turkey and Iran to India with the new baby, with her. Now all her Dad did was run away into a cannabis haze every evening after his mind-numbing job as a scout at one of the colleges, cleaning up after posh gits he could wipe the floor with his intellect. She never inherited her father’s brains, but his nephew did, obviously.

“Did Uncle Joe hit you when you were kids, Daddy?” Martha asked as innocently and lightly as possible.

“Oh yeah. Of course. All of us, but mostly me. We were next in age and shared a bedroom. Didn’t mean he didn’t love me,” Jon emphasized, looking at James.

James snorted in disbelief. He seriously doubted his Dad loved him, despite the hugs and the drunken, maudlin assertions that he was sorry, that he loved his son so much.

Once Jon had left, switching off the main light leaving the two teenagers in the glow of the bedside light and the pink fairy lights around the bed, Martha stood up and wordlessly handed James the painkillers and the glass of water. He took them and swallowed the pills and then drank all the water, realising he was very thirsty. He drained it in one breathless go. He then put it down and picked up his tea. Martha took hers and sat at the end of the bed, looking intently at him.

“Did you really run away?”

“Yes. I wasn’t much good at it.”

“Why did the police arrest your Dad?”

“You wouldn’t believe me Martha. Tell me about you.”

“I did write, you know? I tried to get your school’s address, but no one would give it to me. I sent you a Christmas card and a letter to your new house. You never replied. You were so nice that summer, but I suppose you got back to your posh boy friends and I was too young, too girly, too... common!”

“Martha! No! I meant to write, it’s just things... happened.”

“What things?”

“Nothing! Bad things! Awful things! I can’t talk about it.”

“Okay.” In a huff Martha took her tea with her to the floor and wriggled into he sleeping bag. She avoided looking at him as she placed all the dolls and bears around her. Then she picked up a book and turned her back to James, pointedly.

James sipped his tea and hugged Panda tightly. He rooted around the bottom of his bag, pulling out his fantasy war-gaming figures and started making them climb over his knees over the quilt. At fifteen he was far too old, he knew, but his head ached too much to read. He wanted to pray, to read the evening office, as he tried to do each and every day he could, but over the past fortnight his faith had taken a battering. Ever since his Dad had taken him to his new ‘friend’, the one who made ‘movies’, the one client too many, the straw, as it were, that broke the camel’s back. The very reason why James had run away.

James tried desperately to lose himself, to make up some quest for his elves, but he seriously was too old to play in such a way. They simply wouldn’t come alive for him in his head. He felt alone in the silence.

“What are you reading?”

“Jane Eyre.”

“Oh. How far have you got?”

“Actually,” Martha turned around, “this is my third reading. I love it. But Jane is just in the red room.”

“Mental abuse, that.”

“And physical. It all is! Poor Jane. And as for that school! I hope your school isn’t like Lowood.”

James smiled. “No. Nor Tom Brown’s School Days. I love school.”

“Do you have friends?”

“Not many, no. Too many snobs. But enough. And I love learning, and the class sizes are so small you can really... learn!” James said helplessly. “And the library. And all the sports facilities. And you should see the music rooms...”

“Okay. Okay. I go to Peers. It’s shit. A ‘failing school’. So shut up, okay. Dad’s doing all he can to get me moved to Cheney or Marsden, but it’s a big fight. And I don’t help, even though I’m desperate to move.” Martha grinned. “I see you’ve got your fairies.”

“Elves.”

Martha laughed. “I think I do know that by now!”

“Is that what your Dad meant by hormonal teenager. Are you hanging around the bad boys at your bad school?”

“Not really. I got suspended for punching the class bully. I got fed up with no one doing anything. There was this little Asian kid, bright, shy, and this fat shit from Cowley wouldn’t leave her alone. One day I heard the p-word one time too many and I saw red. Ayesha’s as English as you or me. Well, you. I lived in India ’til I was five. I speak Hindi better than Ayesha. What does that make me? The shit has started on these two new Polish kids now and our form teacher does fuck all!” Martha’s knuckles were white as she gripped the battered paperback of Jane Eyre and she shook with rage.

James was equally impressed with Martha’s righteous anger and shocked by her bad language. He remembered from before how Chrissie, Jon and Martha never swore. It was such a contrast to his own family it had impressed him at the time. It had made him more determined to try to stop himself. Now surviving Jon and Martha both swore, it seemed.

“You swore,” he said.

“Sorry. Don’t you, anymore?”

“I try not to.”

“Everyone swears at my school.”

“To use an expletive shows a paucity of imagination and a lacking vocabulary.”

“Get you! But you are right. Sorry.”

“But where does this hormonal stuff come from?”

“Puberty,” Martha said dryly.

James snorted.

“Okay, you asked. In only have a Dad, as you might have noticed, so he didn’t really cope well when I came on. He got so embarrassed he handed me over to the old ladies of the church who talked about Eve’s curse and had had their menopauses before the invention of modern stuff like Tampax. Oh, and that’s sinful, by the way. Do you believe all that stuff?”

James, now beetroot red, seriously considered the question. “I suppose it’s a question of physical virginity, to imitate our Holy Mother, but it sounds backwards and wrong-footed to me.”

“And as a priest – I take it God hasn’t changed His mind yet? – what would you say?”

James shrugged, wanting this conversation over five minutes ago. “I don’t know. Be clean and comfortable.”

“But it is in the Old Testament, isn’t it? Periods being sinful. Right up there with being gay. You can’t pick and chose.”

“Shut up.”

“Still gay then?”

“I’m not... I’m not...”

“Swallow that lie down boy! Your mother said you were. Still fancy Lovejoy?”

“Shut up! Still fancy Will Smith?”

“I suppose stuff goes on, at a boys boarding school?”

“Not with me. I don’t do... Martha. Can we stop this?”

“Come on. Is it such a sin? Who do you fancy? Who do you love? If you had to kiss one boy, who would it be?”

“You first.”

“Tariq. He’s in Year 11. He’s gorgeous. We go to the Art Club. He’s a fantastic artist, too. He does these blowing abstracts around Arabic calligraphy. He’s tall, skinny, black hair and the deepest brown eyes. He won’t date, though. We talk about art mostly, but when I meet him out of school he brings his sisters. I seriously think he’s more uptight than you. He won’t even kiss until he’s married!”

“And you in Year 8. You sound in love.”

“Maybe. What about you? If you absolutely had to?”

James thought about various actors and musicians, about his Latin Master – young, dark hair, toned muscle; ran the weekend rowing club, was also a house master, although not his – before moving to Will. Will had never quite forgiven the laugh and had hung about with Jonjo a lot that last year. Now he was gorgeous. Jonjo?

James’ mind flittered back to the previous day. It felt like a lifetime ago. He thought about the sergeant, such deep, deep blue eyes with such dark hair. They way he moved gave the impression he was really strong and lithe under that cheap, appalling suit. He’d been different to any man James had met before, honest about his feelings, his sexuality, to his boss, and yet so completely devoted and in love with his wife, completely faithful. And safe, rock solid safe.

He’d liked the Inspector too. The fantastic music he’d played on the journey down the A420 to Faringdon. The fact he’d recognized the poetry James had quoted, was interested in his scholarship, his studies, his opinions. In him. Silver haired, smart, expensive suit, like so many of those... men. But so unlike, so kind. The kind of man James would want for a father.

But not the sergeant, not for a father, if...

“I don’t know Martha. It’s scary, to be with another boy, a man. I don’t think I could, I... I....”

“I don’t think God hates gay people. Truly!”

“No offence Martha, but you are only thirteen. But it’s not that.... Martha... Martha! Can I trust you?”

“James! You are the only cousin I know properly. You gave me hope when I could have curled up and died. I wanted to, you know. Just join Mummy and the Barbies. I think it’s why I buried them. I love you James. You’re like my brother. Every time I look at your poor face I just want to kill Uncle Joe. You CAN trust me not to laugh or whatever it is you’re scared of.”

“I’m not afraid you’ll laugh.”

“Okay.”

“It’s to do with why I never wrote back.”

“Okay. I’m no angry. I forgive you.”

“I... I... Dad knows these men. You know he gambles and gets into debt?”

“Yes.”

“You know about what Augustus did to me at Crevecoeur?”

“Yes. Horrible.”

“I think Dad was desperate for money, to start with, and he showed this man my picture and told him about Augustus. Dad’s weak and this man paid all his debts. I think he thought, Dad thought, that... because I’d already done... those things, it would... would be alright.”

“James!”

“Augustus made me feel special. He taught me piano, to read music. He showed me a whole world of the classics, of music, of literature. He got me the scholarship. He... he loved me!”

“James! That man did not love you! You were a little child and you don’t do... that... to little children. Not if you love them.”

“But these men... they were many, after the first,” James went on as if Martha hadn’t spoken. “They didn’t love me. I was a thing. They paid – they pay! – Dad money to do whatever they want. I have to do what they want. I won’t look at them! I never look at them! And I won’t kiss if I can help it. I won’t! But they... they... I try to close my mind, relax my body, but... It’s my mouth I hate the most. I have to concentrate; I can’t switch off and just go inside myself. If I do daydream I choke. And I have to... swallow. Fight the disgust. All I want to do is be sick. I hate it! I HATE it!”

“Oh God...” Martha climbed into her bed and hugged James. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her chest, noticing dimly she wasn’t quite so bony – there! – anymore.

“The other stuff, I can just switch off, really. And it stops hurting after the first... bit. I just... just... Martha, you are right, I am gay, but I couldn’t... couldn’t... Even if I wasn’t Catholic and didn’t know it was a sin! If I were in love, he’d want me to do... those things, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I couldn’t...” James began to cry messily. “I couldn’t feel because it would feel like those men were...”

Martha stroked James’ hair, out of her depth, while he sobbed.

“Is this what you told the police?” she asked when he had calmed down, when he was still and quiet in her arms.

James nodded into her shoulder. “No evidence. They let him go. I don’t know the men’s names. I was useless.”

“Oh James.”

“But I don’t want my Dad to go to prison. Mum would too, wouldn’t she? Because she knows too.”

“James, you must tell again. Let me. I’ll tell Daddy. Or we’ll phone Childline. Something.”

James shook his head and held her tighter. “I don’t want my parents to go to prison. I love them. I do. They’re all I have.”

“Oh James...”

“Promise me you’ll keep this secret.”

Martha paused, not liking the idea, then sighing said, “I promise. Let’s hope Auntie Rose decides to stay here until you have to go to school, then. At Christmas you’ll be sixteen James.”

“What?” James sat up, wiping snot across his bruised face with the back of his hand.

“Sixteen. Over the age of consent.”

“Twenty one is the age of consent for two men.”

“Still, legally an adult in lots of ways. Make sure you grow a bit next term. So the perverts won’t want you. You’re almost not a child, right?”

“Oh.” James said flatly, taking on board what Martha had said. Then he beamed, a beatific, happy smile. “Oh yes! Yes I will be! I’ll be too old, too big, for all of them!”

“Yes,” said Martha, fingers crossed behind her back.

*

James stared at Martha’s messy floor in her student room, silent and brooding. “Yes. I told you. I only ever told you, until Cambridge. And as for the Church’s attitude, it’s appalling. A phrase that springs to mind is sucks shit through a straw. Stupid and insensitive and I swallowed the lot.”

“Is that why you...?”

James shrugged. “Not really. What about you, Martha? What will you do?”

“Dunno. I can’t quite get my head around this. I’ve been wondering for two weeks, and I’ve done five tests in three days. They’re not cheap, either.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t know.”

“Is it, um, is it Dan’s?”

“James Hathaway! You pig! Of course it’s Dan’s. This is so stupid. It’s entirely my fault. He’s going to hate me!” Martha put her head down in her hands and began to weep. James put his arms around her, selfishly glad not to think of his own problems. He grabbed tissues from her bedside table and handed them to her, one by one, still holding her, until she had composed herself.

“It takes two to tango,” James said when she looked up, dry-eyed. “Or, rather, two to make a baby.”

“Yes, but I lied.”

“Lied?”

“He was all for using condoms, but me? I thought I’m supposed to be Catholic, so I told him I was on the Pill.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Contraception is a sin.”

“So,” emphasized James, “is sex outside marriage. And ‘thou shalt not give false testimony’. Lying is bad, Martha, I won’t pretend otherwise. So what will you do? Tell him the pill failed, or the truth? Do you love him?”

“You know I do! I adore him! But since I was... late, you know? I’ve refused to see him. James, you’re shivering. Let’s get into bed.”

They squeezed into Martha’s bed and drank tea and ate the toast.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to eat peanuts when you’re pregnant. It’s to prevent the risk of the baby developing an allergy. And caffeine is bad. You need to switch to herbal or decaff. You ought to get some folic acid. You need a book. I’ll buy you one.”

“James!” Martha hissed. She ate the rest of the toast and then guiltily offered to make some more.

“I’m not hungry. I feel sick, to tell the truth.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be feeling sick. But I’m just ravenous, all the time. Starving.” She switched off the light and snuggled into James.

“You have to tell Dan. Give him a chance. And see the doctor. I’ll go with you, first thing tomorrow morning.”

“James!”

“Someone’s got to look after you. It should be Dan. He loves you.”

“Don’t you?”

“Not like that. But,” he touched her belly, “that’s my little second cousin in there. We have to look after it. Him. Her.”

“Oh God James! I’m pregnant!”

“Are you afraid?”

“Bloody terrified! But you, what about you? Did you walk out or were you expelled or whatever they do to you? Defrocked?”

“I wasn’t ordained, Martha, so I can’t be defrocked! Honestly, what a word! No. There was a big meeting, yesterday. It was ‘agreed’ I lacked the ‘right attitude’ and had ‘poor judgement’.”

“What does that mean?”

“Lots of things Martha. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, in a word?”

“It’s more complicated. I made a terrible, terrible mistake, but in the eyes of my confessor I did the right thing. I can’t hold down those contradictions. I can’t! Not anymore.”

“Well, why not? The Trinity is one big, huge contradiction and you don’t struggle with that like I do. I just ignore it and concentrate on God the Father. Easier, somehow.”

“Easy, maybe, if you have a loving father.”

“Oh James. What am I going to tell Daddy?”

“The truth.”

“And what are you going to do? Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. Not home. I want to still do something where I can serve, help people. I need to atone.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

James snorted. “Right!”

“Look, I don’t know what your mistake was, but God is a Loving Father who forgives us our sins. He doesn’t bear grudges.”

“Did you know what one of the priests called me? Mary Magdalen.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she is identified as the prostitute who wept at Jesus’ feet.”

“Jesus wept!” exclaimed Martha. “One, she was Martha’s sister, a follower of Jesus, who listened to him rather than just rushed about waiting on the men folk. Two, that sounds like a load of patriarchal claptrap designed to discredit a clever and spiritual woman. No surprise there, then. But you? Why call you that?”

“I had to... confess everything.”

“James!” Martha held him tightly and kissed his neck, she couldn’t reach his face from where she was. “That is not your sin to confess.”

“I was told, time and time again, it was a blessing, a call to celibacy.”

“Bollocks!”

“It was another contradiction I found too hard to reconcile. And you are right, it isn’t my sin. But still, he called me Magdalen and then, sometimes, Jezebel.”

“Your confessor?”

“Yes.”

“Called you that? In front of others?”

“Yes.”

“A tart, in other words. A whore. He called you that. The bastard.”

“Martha... don’t.”

“Did they kick you out for being gay?”

“It’s far, far more complex...”

“Yes or no?”

“I started to question their teachings...”

“Yes, then.”

“A bit. Maybe. Lots of reasons, Martha. Lots of reasons.”

“Look, Jamie sweetie, you are as pure as the driven snow. I’m the scarlet woman around here.”

“No!”

“As far as the church goes.”

“Well, yes, but...”

Martha and James sat up and stared at each other. “Grandma!” they said at the same time.

*

James stayed a week. In that week he got her to the doctor, got her to student services and her name put down for a flat for the following academic year plus on the waiting list for a crèche place. At the Modular Office he helped her arrange to explore the option of switching her degree to part time. He made her nourishing meals and bought vitamins, he held her head when she was sick in the mornings and then brought her sweet tea and dried crackers. In fact he ended up feeding the whole flat, as young women would wander in while he was cooking, sniff and beg for a portion. He went with her to her father with all the plans she had made. Jon, who had married Chrissie when Martha was six was in no position to come the heavy father and didn’t even try. He offered to switch to a night job and have the baby at home with him in the day. He told her to come home.

James and Jon between them both tried and tried to persuade Martha to see Dan, to speak to him, to explain, to tell him he was going to be a father! But Martha remained stubborn and unmoving. Dan himself left messages, sent e-mails, texts and voice mails, along with notes via friends and messages with Martha’s flatmates. He pleaded to know what he had done wrong. He kept telling her he loved her.

Then disaster struck. Fed up with taking all the broken-hearted messages from Dan, one of Martha’s flatmates let him in late one night. He came into Martha’s room to see her curled up in bed next to James.

Martha chased after him in her nightie, screaming and pleading that it was nothing, that he was her cousin and gay, but Dan was too hurt to stop, to listen. Too late Martha realised how much she loved him, how much she needed him.

James decided he needed to leave. He didn’t move far, he moved in with his Uncle Jon. He signed on and looked for any casual work while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Surprisingly, when he was thinking or praying about his future, the police force kept jumping into his mind. He wasn’t police officer material, he didn’t think, he was too thoughtful, too cerebral, too educated, not... something, macho was the wrong word, but not a team player, not interested in crime fighting and driving fast cars, not... he didn’t know what he was, except he knew he wasn’t really police officer material! Besides, his Dad was as bent as they came, always existing on the hinterland of the law, and his uncle was a hashhead and a sometimes small time dealer. He didn’t want to have to arrest family!

Martha came home in May, for reading week, having been unable to make up with Dan. James wanted to find him, explain, but Martha wouldn’t let him. Besides, she said he had gone home to Yorkshire to his parents, so his roommate had told her.

Martha knew how isolated her Dad had been, how lonely, coming home with her mother so ill with motor neurones only to have both families reject them, even after they married. Certainly they hadn’t been welcomed with open arms like the Prodigal Son. She didn’t want to be the cause of them rejecting him a second time. Dad went to mass now, and her baptism and first communion had been a family reconciliation. She knew he would stand by her come what may, and this would cost him the family again. Desperately unhappy, heart-broken and afraid, although later she would always put it down to pregnancy hormones, she proposed for a second time to her cousin.

James, of course, laughed at the first few attempts. Martha would not take no for an answer. She offered him a sexless marriage with a ready-made baby to take care of. She promised to look after him, to forgive him in advance if he ever changed his mind about being celibate, if he found a boyfriend. She pleaded. She coerced. She blackmailed. Browbeaten, after days of relentless demanding and threatening, James said yes.

Martha then presented her plan to her father. Perhaps her later diagnosis had been correct, perhaps the hormones had driven her temporarily stupid or mad, but she had expected her father to be ecstatically happy.

James had been expecting his uncle to have reservations and concerns. He’d hoped for rejections and help persuading her out of this course. What he hadn’t expected was the extreme, emotional over-reaction.

“It’s impossible! Utterly impossible! I forbid it Martha! You absolutely cannot marry him!”

Jon had never forbidden Martha anything in her life. A huge, horrible row followed, with neither side listening to the other, or to reason. James sat on the sofa, the shouting ranging over his head, not really wanting to marry Martha but stung by his uncle’s sudden, vehement rejection of him.

Eventually both father and daughter were in tears. Desperate, no longer thinking clearly, Jon yelled through his tears,

“It’s against the laws of the Church, of nature. Of God. Of England! It’s just bloody wrong and impossible!”

James looked at Jon, horrified, and then stared at Martha. Skinny, tall, blonde, blue eyed Martha, so alike she might be mistake for his sister, so he had always thought.

It turned out there was no might about it, no mistaking but seeing. But was Joe Martha’s father, or Jon his? Who had betrayed whom? Wild, hippie Chrissie or uptight, devoted Rose?

He felt like the world was spinning too fast, as if gravity had failed, as if everything he knew had been thrown off, a flat spin, floating free-fall...

He wasn’t the only one. Martha had fainted. Panicked, James ran from the flat leaving his Uncle to deal with Martha.

James walked the streets for hours, not knowing what to do, what to think, how to feel. He had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. His parents were still not speaking to him following his dismissal from the seminary. He had had friends but they were either lost with his lost vocation or hated him for his treatment of Will.

Eventually, still not knowing what to do or where to go, he found himself at Dan’s Hall of Residence. He was given an address in Yorkshire. It took him half a day to hitch to Scarborough, the rest of the day and half the night to find Dan’s parents’ house. He had no money; he’d not eaten in 24 hours. He sat on the path outside waiting for a decent hour to knock on the door. When he did Dan’s mother saw and impossibly tall, thin, pale young man shivering on her doorstep. She hurriedly called Dan, who came in his boxers and a T-shirt, hair sticking up on end and unshaven. He’d never met James but Martha had shown him pictures.

“I’m her brother. She loves you and needs you. She’s having your baby,” he managed to say before he passed out


	14. Trying to organize a funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is just too cute but doesn't sleep, James and Molly go to church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first quote is by Janet and Allan Ahlberg, the middle quotes from the Anglican (Episcopalian)Book of Common Worship and the last is Isaiah 40:31.

James struggled to wake up, heavy with a sleep filled with stress, memories and anxieties all wrapped up in some horrendous, vivid dreams. He opened his eyes and moved to get up but Robbie stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I’ll see to her.”

“But you’ve got to go to work.” James said, twisting around to watch as Robbie climbed out of bed and tug on his dressing gown.

“You need a break pet.”

James turned in bed again to watch as Robbie walked around the bed to the cot. He picked up the yelling, purple-faced Molly who instantly stopped screaming and grinned.

“Grah!”

“Hey Molly, what’s all this eh?” Robbie turned to James, confused. “She’s not wet? Hungry?”

“Bored, mostly,” James said.

“Right. You go back to sleep young lady.” Robbie lay her back down. Molly began to scream again, arching her back, wriggling over to the bars and sitting up and then pulling herself up to stand. Robbie stared intently at her. “Go to sleep Molly.” He walked slowly away. Molly started to bang her head on the bars. James leapt out of bed. “Leave her,” Robbie said, grabbing James by his right wrist to stop him, pulling him back to bed. He practically lay on top of James to stop him moving towards Molly. “She’ll calm down. She needs to learn that nighttime is for sleeping. I thought you got up to feed her or change her. Is this why I find you crashed out on the sofa and her in the playpen morning after morning?” Robbie now had to practically shout over Molly’s desperate yells for attention and the thumps as her head hit the bars again and again and also as she seems to be rocking the cot on the floor with the strength of the shaking of the bars.

“Robbie...” James protested in the dark after little over two minutes of this.

Fifteen minutes after that Molly was sat up between her two dads giggling and bouncing and pulling at their nightclothes and the duvet. At Robbie’s insistence they lay down again and switched off the light.

The screaming began again, this time a more high pitched terrified and terrifying scream. Molly started to hit both her dads in desperate fear and boredom. She didn’t like the dark and she was awake. They needed to be awake.

Ten minutes later Robbie sat up swearing, putting on the light. “What is wrong with her?”

“You have to work. I’ll take her in the living room, she likes the Baby Einstein DVDs or we’ll build bricks... You need to sleep. You have work.”

“You need to sleep! You need to heal!” Robbie snapped. He got up, put on his blue towelling robe for the second time and snatched up Molly. She wriggled in his arms and reached for James.

“Dah dah! Dah dah!”

“Uh huh. Daddy sleeps princess. You’ve got me tonight. Come on.”

“Robbie, you’ve got work.”

“Tell you what, we’ll do shifts. I’ll wake you in two hours if she’s still awake. Take advantage. Take some of those painkillers the hospital gave you. You look grey.”

*

At just past five in the morning Robbie shook James awake. In was a hard job, James had done as he had been told and took two co-codamol, and on the lack of sleep he had had knocked him out cold. He opened one eye blearily. Robbie and Molly swam in his vision. He struggled to wake and forced open the other eye. Molly was babbling cheerfully. Robbie’s thinning hair was standing on end and he now was the one who looked grey.

“How on Earth do you do this night after night?” he demanded. “It’s like she doesn’t have an off button.”

“Someone’s got to,” James mumbled, still struggling with his rise into full consciousness.

“Well, when does she next see Dr. Sayer? Can’t she prescribe something?”

“She’s a baby Robbie!”

“I know. I know,” Robbie sighed, ashamed of his thought of drugging a baby to sleep. He would be no better than Mark and Nadia. He kissed the top of her head. She shrieked as if it hurt. “I’d thought,” he said over Molly’s increasing loud yells, “about just sticking her in the car and driving with her until she fell asleep but it’s started snowing heavily again.”

“Oh.” Now fully awake, more or less, James sat up only to have Molly unceremoniously dumped on his lap before Robbie got into bed and almost instantly fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Molly stopped crying and stared up intently at James with her dark blue eyes, a look of frightening intelligence. “Dah bah. Dah dah nah. Mah mah,” she said insistently.

“No more TV Molly. Books okay?” James switched on his bedside light and reached out, long armed, for a pile of books under the cot, holding the ever-wriggling Molly precariously with the arm with the broken wrist in its cast.

After getting comfortable, he began to read,

“Here’s a little baby  
One, two, three,  
Stands in his cot,  
What does he see?”

“Pahpo!” Molly yelled, grabbing the cardboard page to try to turn it, saying her almost first word.

*

When Lewis woke up it was already gone eight. He immediately phoned to say he was taking the morning off and would be in later. After he’d been to the bathroom he picked up the sleeping Molly, asleep on James’ chest and stomach and tucked up her in her cot. She stirred but did not wake. After he dressed he headed for the kitchen, washed up and then woke James with coffee and poached eggs on toast.

“I’d let you sleep in love, only you have that appointment today, remember? Plus you want me to wash your hair for you. Besides, pet, we still do need to talk a bit more.”

“What about? What time is it? Why aren’t you at work?”

“I rang in to say I’d be late. I’m washing your hair, remember, sleepy head? Besides, like I said, we need to talk. Last night, was that just a blip or was...?”

“Oh!” James said, not really paying attention as he remembered Molly, “I forgot! Molly said her first word. Well, almost.” James fished among the baby board books around and underneath him in the bed and found the right one. “Peepo! She said peepo.”

“That’s great James, but about what you said...”

“But Dr. Sayer said language acquisition delay, but she babbles all the time and now this. A proper word. Isn’t that fantastic?”

“Great James,” he said, wondering if James was using this as a distraction or had genuinely had forgotten how he’d poured his heart out the previous evening. He also vaguely wondered if it wasn’t more normal to say mummy or daddy or even cat first, a name not a thing, but maybe that was just his two and all his nieces and nephews. He sighed and said gently, “We need to talk about us.”

“Us?” James asked, looking puzzled and a slightly panicked. 

 

“Yeah, us. Sit up properly and I’ll give you the tray. You need to eat your breakfast, you didn’t have any tea.” Once James had the tray on his lap and was sipping his coffee, Robbie added, “When I said us, I really mean you.”

“Me?”

“Last night James, I said we’d take a break from, you know...”

James grinned. “Yeah, I know...”

“Do you remember? You were pretty shattered.”

“Yeah. Yup. I do.”

Robbie frowned and gave James a concerned look. He had shut his face down into that expressionless mask again. “I know we have anyway, what with your shoulder and wrist and bruises and that. And us both being so tired. But I want this to be proper, us talking about it, agreeing about it. You know? To help you. So I thought, just touching, you know. Until you feel safe...”

“I am safe. With you. I am.”

“So it was a blip, all this worry about being wired up wrong?” For two hours, as he had sat up with Molly, rocking her, walking with her, singing with her, playing with her stacking cups and primo Lego, staring at the strange, American DVD with her, the things James had said went round and around in his head. Did James really worry about being ‘wired up wrong’ due to the abuse or was it a hang over from the seminary. Catholic teaching was clear that homosexuality was a disorder. The stuff about his pretending, about his Dad’s ‘rules’, his actual mention of various men and what they did to him, the mind games as much as the physical, sexual abuse. He was surprised he’d been able to fall asleep, but he supposed he must have been knackered, chasing leads with other forces; pushing for forensics; completing paperwork, a nightmare as far as the Nadia Lewis case went; supervising Grainger’s DS an DCs; filing paperwork on his recommendation of Ngoti’s promotion and transfer of Sophie to Laxton. He hated paperwork at the best of times, although it was no problem, he’d done plenty for Morse. Half his problem was he liked to be thorough and that took time. As much as he needed James at home, looking after Molly, and in fact, as much as he needed James, full stop, as his partner, he bloody well missed him at work. He was the best sergeant he ever had, or would likely to have. God, he was tired. Tired and so very worried for James.

James scowled deeply, which at least was a response. “Don’t know. I like what we do. I did like it. I’m always so bloody tired and I still hurt, especially my wrist, and my mind wanders and...”

“James, love. I think you are just made that way. Gay. Liking, you know... what we do. Look pet, you’re not the only one who can read a book or two, and I’ve read so many books on surviving childhood sexual abuse since the Black case...”

“Why?”

“I was worried about you, man! To help you, you stupid sod.”

“But you were just my boss then?”

“No, I was your friend too. I want to help, as a friend. If you ever needed a friend to turn to, I wanted it to be me. And then, I’d hoped we’d one day get together, but it wasn’t the right time, not then... I just wanted to be there for you, you know? Part of the solution, not the problem.”

“You were thinking about me... like that... back then?”

“Longer, probably, pet, only I really realised it then. Maybe much longer, really. But there was your Catholic guilt, your denial, your trying to be straight with Fiona, your insistence that you were celibate...”

“I was.”

“Well then. And there was me, you know. It wasn’t easy, I wasn’t quite comfortable admitting to myself I was bisexual, you know? Then you are so young, I felt so guilty wanting you.”

James snorted. “I know all about guilt.”

“I didn’t feel guilty because you were a man, you daft sod, but because you’re as young as me kids. Look, James, I think the fact that you want what you want... in bed, makes you stronger. It’s the way you’re wired, but it’s not wrong, it’s just you. Not average, but not wrong. You believe in God, right well, surely you believe God makes everything and doesn’t make mistakes... Oh me God, I’m bloody quoting Lady Gaga. Listen to me. Is that a smile?” Robbie tilted his head and looked into James’ face, pulling a silly one of his own until James’ scowl broke into a small smile.

“That’s more like it. Look, according to all I’ve read if Mortmaigne and the others ‘wired you up wrong’ you would be out to screw around, be predatory, to abuse, to hurt, to do to you what was done to you. Do you understand, me pet? You are who you are, and you should be proud, not ashamed. I love you, and I certainly don’t think anything less of you, and I doubt your God does, either.”

“Robbie, I...” James looked down, unable to think of anything to contradict anything his lover had said but still feeling awful and full of self-loathing, and smashed the egg down on the toast. Yellow runny yolk oozed over the brown toast and white plate.

“I know it’s complicated. I know you have to work these things out for yourself. I know you look at Molly, and you see her innocent and small and you can’t work out how someone could hurt any child. I know. I’m a parent and a cop. I hate child abuse cases more than murder or rape. And so bloody hard to prove half the time CPS chuck the lot back in your face.”

“Me?”

“God, you among lots, James, sorry to say. Look, pet, I know Mark hurt you yesterday, but I want to tell you to stop dwelling on it. Listen, love, you are not a tart, and you are not obvious, whatever that means, and you are not my ‘bitch’, you are my boyfriend, my fiancé, and I love you. If you need a break from stuff, I’m fine with that. If you want to try other stuff I’m fine with that too. Eat your eggs now, before they get too cold.”

James stared at Robbie then looked down and attacked his food, as he realised he was very hungry. While he ate Molly woke up. Robbie changed her, washed her and heated her soya milk before sitting back down on the bed to feed her. James had now finished eating and lay back on the pillows, sipping coffee and watching Robbie and Molly intently.

“You said I need to learn to touch you more,” he said eventually. “Last night.”

“Aye. You seem uncomfortable. Like you’ve been groomed to accept being touched but afraid to touch. I thought...” Robbie looked down at Molly in his arms, guzzling milk noisily, and blushed, as if she could understand. “I thought, maybe, if we only kissed and touched, no further, until you feel... I don’t know, more ready. Having Molly, it’s bringing a lot of stuff up for you pet. Thank God we’ve worked together, known each other, been friends, for years before, else how would we cope, eh? Val and me, we had three years before our Lyn. We’ve had such little time...”

“As you keep saying, we’ve all the time in the world.” James smiled, a much more relaxed, genuine smile. “I love you, Robbie, I do love you so much.”

Just then Molly pushed the bottle away and belched noisily before yelling, “Wah!”

“Okay princess. Whatever that means.”

“Dah dah wah mah,” explained Molly loudly and then arched her back to head butt her Dad on the chin. She laughed.

“You wanted me to help you shower. I was going to get in with you, but with madam here awake I think it would be better if I ran you a bath. I can wash your hair and hold Molly then. How on Earth have you managed? Why didn’t you ask for help before? I should have thought but I’ve had Nadia on my mind.”

“I know Robbie, I know. Well, same as bathing Molly, I taped some plastic bags over my cast and had sort of strip washes. Oh, and baby wipes. I ordered this thing as soon as I was out of hospital, but with the snow the deliveries have been delayed. But my hair stinks, I know. It’s why I gelled it up, hides how greasy it is and the hair mousse smells much nicer than stinky, unwashed hair. But Mark said it made me look like a poof.”

“Well, you are,” Robbie grinned sardonically and added, more seriously, “And so am I, now, and that is what bothers Mark. Not you.” And then before James could react he went on, “I’ll run you that bath. Bubbles?”

“Please,” said James, reaching out to take Molly.

“Dah dah. Buk. Pahpo. Buk!”

“Robbie!” James practically squealed.

“Yeah. I heard. Bloody brilliant!”

“Blah!” yelled Molly.

“Naughty Dad. We don’t say swear words, do we, m’m?” James looked up from looking into Molly’s eyes and added, seriously, “She got enough swear words from Mark and Nadia. I’m not even sure if dah is Daddy or damn. And she’s fond of the f-sound if she knocks her bricks over.”

“Buk buk buk buk!” Molly yelled over James.

“Do as madam demands,” Robbie said and headed for the bathroom.

*

With a lot of laughing from James and Robbie and angry screaming from Molly in her cot, ignored, they got James’ cast properly covered and him in the bath. He rested his arm on the edge of the bath and lay back, sighing with happiness. Robbie fetched Molly and sat her on a pile on towels and the bathmat. James handed her two yellow bath ducks. For a while, she sat staring wide-eyed and silent, staring at the strange sight of Dad washing Daddy’s hair. It was so strange she began to giggle.

“Is Dad washing Daddy’s hair funny, pet?”

“It’s just like I do to you,” James pointed out.

“Daddy was smelly.”

“Oi!”

“Kwuk!” Molly said, no longer watching her dads, smashing the two ducks into each other. “Kwuk kwuk kwuk!”

“Aw. Are the duckies kissing?” Robbie asked.

“Kwuk!” Molly shouted, and smashed them down. She rolled back and kicked her legs in the air happily and sucked the beak of the duck in her left hand.

“Actually, I think they may have been fighting,” James said glumly.

“Shut up!” Robbie tipped a jug of lukewarm water over James’ head.

“Oi!”

“Bub bub bub!” Molly sang happily.

“She’s a changed little girl, isn’t she?” Robbie said, putting conditioner on James’ hair. “Did she know Mark?”

“Think so. She grinned at him, anyway, and she’s not a smiley baby as a rule.”

“Seems fine now.”

“Around people! She’s hard work.”

“You’re doing a grand job, pet. What time are you seeing this vicar?”

“Eleven forty five.”

“Want me to hang around, drop you at St. Peter’s?”

“She wants me to meet her at her other church, St. Friedswide’s.”

“St. Friedswide’s? As in Osney? But that’s...”

“No. It’s a daughter church on the new estate near Cutteslowe. It’s usual for C of E priests to have more than one parish, especially in the country or cities.”

“Oh. Well. I bow to your superior knowledge to such things. Feel weird, will it?”

“What?”

“Well, you stopped going to mass ages ago.”

“How could I? I’m...”

“Living in sin, yeah yeah. Now, this is the kind of bollocks that make me think it’s all mumbo jumbo.” Robbie tipped another jug of water over James.

James didn’t react, he shut down and said nothing while Robbie helped him wash, laughing a little when Robbie tickled him to get a response, but that was involuntary. He still didn’t properly smile or say anything.

We need to talk at some point, James thought, we need to discuss how we raise Molly. I want to teach her Bible stories when she is a little older, I want to raise her a Christian. I know Val did his other children. But I can’t raise her properly, can I? How could I take her to mass, to Sunday School? No one would accept us, and I can’t lie, can I? Not once she’s of an age to speak. And how is that before, lying to the church to come to worship Him? It’s too big a contradiction.

“Sorry,” Robbie said, intruding into his brooding silence. “I respect your faith, I do. Except the bit that makes you hate yourself.”

“I want to read Bible stories to Molly, teach her the Lord’s Prayer, at least.”

“Did you think I would object to that? Soft lad! Of course you can!”

“I just...”

“Come one. Let’s get you out of the bath. Molly’s asleep. Let me get her in her cot and I’ll be back for you.”

“It’s being awake all night,” James muttered darkly. “Then she can sleep it off, while the rest of us have to carry on.”

“Yup,” Robbie called from the door. “Babies, eh?”

James thought Robbie sounded happy, but he wondered if he really was. He’d said on more than one occasion he missed family life, but this wasn’t happy families, was it? With Nadia dead and Mark in prison.

*

James stood uncertainly by the door, confused by the open space and people in the church entrance, or hall perhaps, before the actual church. St. Friedswide’s was a surprisingly modern little Church of England church on the edge of the Cutteslowe housing estate, much, much younger than its namesake in the Botley/Osney side of Oxford. He had understood that he was here to meet the vicar to discuss Nadia’s funeral service and burial. He had been told nothing about people. Well, for people, read women: young women and toddlers, all running about, pushing a motley, aging collection of baby doll buggies and prams, except these were boys and they pushed the toys with full Formula 1 sound effects and speed, frequently crashing into each other and the table.

James wasn’t sure what to do, except quickly close the door behind him before one of the racing toddlers made a break for it. He’d taken Molly out of her buggy for the first time. Robbie had dropped him at the A40 roundabout and he’d walked the rest of the way. Should he stay, in which case he must get Molly out of her buggy and out of her too cute red snow suit with a yellow flower print, plus her red with yellow trim hat and mittens, or go back outside and to Summertown shops for yet another coffee. He was beginning to live in the Costa there. In made a change from the small four walls of Robbie’s tiny flat.

“Hello,” said an older woman with silver hair in a bob and wearing a brightly patterned jumper over nylon slacks. “Have you come to join our little gathering? Come in, come in. would you like a cup of tea? I’m Jenny. This is Mary,” she pointed to another woman, even older, with grey permed hair and an old-fashioned Peter Pan collared blouse and cardigan over a tweed skirt and stout walking shoes on top of brown woollen tights.

“Hello there. Tea? Coffee? Are you alright, young man? You look confused.”

James fingers itched to pull out his badge from a pocket and introduce himself as DS Hathaway to regain the upper hand. He felt slightly cheated. Or tricked. The vicar’s husband had given him a time and place for an appointment about a funeral, nothing was said about a what? Mother and toddler group? Pram service? What? He played for time, unzipping Molly from her coat and pulling off her hat, mittens and cardigan. It was warm in the church lobby/hall area; he didn’t want her to overheat.

“I have an appointment with Reverend Lindsay,” he finally got out as Jenny and Mary stared at him expectantly and three of the boys gazed up at him as if he were a giant.

“Ah. Well, come in and join us until she arrives,” said Jenny, mouthing ‘funeral, Val’s daughter-in-law’ at Mary, and with that she whisked Molly from James’ arms and steered James with one hand firmly on the small of his back around the corner to an alcove in front of the hatch to the tiny kitchenette. A group of chairs were gathered around more toys, baby toys this time, and younger toddlers were busy exploring. About ten young mums and a couple of grandmothers along with one father sat chatting and eating. A trestle table was laid with all kinds of things to eat, mostly things grabbed from supermarkets – bread, sausage rolls, cheese slices, a tub of hummus, slices of ham, grapes and bananas, but there was a plate of homemade cakes and someone had sliced a cucumber and a few tomatoes and plated them.

The father, a bespectacled thirty something man, looked up and grinned awkwardly as the women all looked up and smiled and waved.

“Welcome to our little ABC club,” said Jenny. “We have an informal little shared lunch and then we have a little communion service followed by some craft activity, apart from the first of the month, when we adjourn to the park, or Ferry Pool if the weather is foul. So. Tea? Coffee?”

“Um. Coffee please. White, no sugar.” Bamboozled, James sat down. “Will Reverend Lindsay be long?” 

“She wouldn’t keep you waiting unless something cropped up, I’m sure. Sorry, but what is your name?”

“I’m James. This is Molly,” he said, relieving the squirming, grizzling Molly from Jenny once he’d removed his coat. She squirmed some more in his grasp so he sat her in front of him on the blanket. Primo Lego immediately went into her mouth while her right hand grabbed a squishy mouse with a squeak that she began to shake.

“Muh!” she yelled around the yellow brick.

James smiled down at her and nodded, “Mouse, yes. Good Molly. Molly has the mouse.”

Eight young mothers sitting around him melted. Just then a young woman walked down the staircase behind where the parents and children were gathered followed by a stern looking older man with a full grey beard and wild longish grey hair. “I really can’t explain the discrepancy in the books,” the younger woman floundered. She then apologised profusely as she followed him to the door.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetpea. We’ll sort it out before the Archdeacon arrives,” the man said in rounded, rural tones.

She turned and headed for James. She wore brightly striped yellow and blue trousers, a dark blue cardigan and a pale blue shirt with a clerical collar adorned with a simple wooden cross on a leather cord. She wore no earrings but her nose and eyebrow were pierced. Her very short hair was dyed a vivid red.

“Mr. Hathaway. I’m sorry to have kept you. I’m afraid the treasurer and I spotted a discrepancy in the collection records. Would you like a – Oh! I see Jenny and Mary have looked after you. Do forgive me, but I have no time now before communion. You are welcome to join us for the service.”

“Well, I...”

“Or you could sit here, with a coffee. Now, the message from my husband was a little confusing. I understand that Inspector Robert Lewis, is that right, wishes his daughter-in-law buried with his wife? Valerie Lewis was before my time, but I understand she was quite a mainstay of the church, both here and at St. Peter’s, where he would like the service and committal. Forgive me for asking you here, but this little daughter church is so busy during the week it is so much easier to catch me here. I understand you are his sergeant? Surely it’s not really your job to...?”

“I was embarrassed,” James said, flushing pink across his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Around them people tidied food, plates and cups along with toys and blankets away and began to shepherd the children and carry babies into the church.

“Embarrassed! My dear boy!” Despite her ‘alternative’ appearance, Rev. Lindsay spoke in the loud, assured Received Pronunciation tones of one from the expensively educated and moneyed background.

“Robbie Lewis is no longer my boss, he’s my... we’re getting... we... this is Molly, she’s his granddaughter, we’re... that is, I gave up work to look after her, because we...” James hung his head, finding it impossible to admit to anything in the Lord’s house. “God forgive me!” he wailed.

“Mr. Lewis is your boyfriend?” clarified the unflappable, unshockable, non-judgemental vicar.

“Yes.”

“And this little one? Molly...?”

“Molly Lewis. Nadia was her mother. We’re adopting her.”

“Ah. Well, you must excuse me, I must get ready for... You are really most welcome to join us. God welcomes all to His Table. Come up for a blessing, unless you are confirmed or the equivalent in a church.

“Not in the Church of England. I was nearly ordained in the Catholic Church, but that’s a very long story.”

“Come and join us Mr. Hathaway. You maybe pleasantly surprised. And you are most welcome to receive communion. God does not condemn love and he commands us to care for the orphans.” And with that, she got up and rushed off to the Vestry.

*

 

James wasn’t surprised so much as felt at home. Of course, the service was very short and simplified, as befitting a pre-school service, but nothing of the order of the liturgy would have been out of place in a Catholic service. Molly, for once, was still, and James found himself having a debate with himself, but not the usual one of being an unrepentant sinner, unshriven, unworthy to come to the Table to receive the Host, but rather a transubstantiation over symbolism debate.

The words of the confession were the same. He and Robbie had just agreed that morning to have a break from sex. He could repent. But could he repent loving Robbie. But surely love in itself wasn’t a sin? He was aware of liberal interpretation of ‘Those Four Verses’, as they had become in his head. He knew all hermeneutical and historical readings of the texts. He could not be ‘ready’, as Robbie so gently put it, until after the ceremony.

Couldn’t he?

That is, could he repent sex outside wedlock but not homosexuality, if he rejected translation and interpretation and tradition of homosexuality as innately sinful? He could boldly come to God as he was, as he were created, and asked for strength to not touch Robbie until after they were ‘married’.

Except, of course, it was not a real marriage, not before God, not even an equal full civil marriage in English law

Could he repent? Did he even need to? Or was it something he could never repent, as he was never going back to lonely celibacy, he was never leaving Molly and Robbie.

The words of the Eucharist Prayer were the same. He believed in transubstantiation. Did it matter if the priest didn’t? And if she were a she!? In fact, what did Anglicans believe? Not fully in transubstantiation., but not a mere symbol of community and fellowship, but rather some very English, woolly compromise between the two? His mates in the band were mostly Anglican. Except Ian, he was a Methodist lay preacher. He’d never talked theology with them. But they had been the only people, before Martha, he had told about him and Robbie. He had to, his band were playing at their wedding reception, at Robbie’s insistence. No one, not them or their wives and girlfriend had been shocked, or judgemental, or even remotely surprised. Just happy for him.

Should he, then, as an unrepentant, practicing homosexual, take Communion. And could he, as a Catholic, receive the Host from a woman Anglican priest?

Such deep, worrying, confusing thoughts had lost James. Suddenly he came to himself. He had missed the Lord’s Prayer and the Agnus Dei, although he was sure his mouth had said them perfectly, on brainless autopilot. He was very sure, as he heard himself say,

“Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”

He got up with the others to go to the Altar Rail. Anglicans knelt. So did James, Molly in his hands, deciding on a blessing. He was at the end of the row as the priest and server came down the line. Many of the mothers received a blessing, as did all the children and babies. Jenny served, but Mary, the only father and three mothers received communion. Anglicans held out their palms in a cross to receive the bread and they also received the wine. Another difference. He knew that, he did know that. He’d just forgotten. So much of his knowledge from his theology degree in Cambridge and the Seminary was deep in his brain, somewhere, filed away, not really of much use to a CID officer or providing much anymore in the way of comfort or entertainment, unlike poetry, literature and music.

James opened his mouth to whisper that he wanted a blessing but before he could get a word out the priest had put the communion wafer on his tongue,

“The Body of Christ, broken for you.”

Andrea Lindsay smiled a beautiful smile, one far away and spiritual, a smile of one full of the Grace of God, as she placed her hand gently on Molly’s head.

“May the Lord Jesus bless you today and all days, and may He make you truly happy as Our Loving Father in Heaven has provided you with two loving fathers to care for you even as he takes your Mummy into his Loving Arms. Amen.”

Before James could think, Andrea had shook her head slightly at Jenny, who was hovering with the Chalice, and both women were both at the Altar and the others were back in their pews, the five little boys running about again at the back of the church. Dazed, James stumbled back to their pew, confused but electrified, as if being held.

“But those that shall wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,  
“they shall mount up with wings like eagles,  
“they shall run and not be weary,  
“they shall not faint,”

came unbidden into his mind. His face was wet with unnoticed tears. He stayed in the church after the final blessing and the others had exited. He bowed his head, trying to formulate words and feelings into a prayer, trying to think, to analyse, to understand on a rational, educated, theological level what had happen to him on a much more basic, spiritual one. However, now the brightly coloured lady wasn’t singing or telling stories Molly was bored and intent on letting her daddy know it. She demanded entertainment and attention. Now!

“Hello. James, is it?”

James looked up. It was Mary, the lady who had made him coffee.

“Shall I take her through? Will she go with me? You look as if you could do a break and it will make it easier for you and Reverend Andi to talk in peace. The older children are making things. She could watch if she’ll let me hold her.”

“Um. I’m not sure. Thank you. Go with the nice lady Molly.”

“Come on Molly. Shall we watch the big children make some sheep and shepherds? Do you like sheep Molly?”

Molly yelled and struggled and reached for James, but Mary was having none of it. She bounced Molly and talked to her about sheep and shepherds and angels and began to sing ‘While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night’ and Molly fell quiet and still, captivated.

*

James and the vicar sat, face to face, with cups of coffee, in the Lady Chapel. James had both desperately wanted to discuss what had happened and to run away. Andrea gave him the opportunity to do neither, keeping the conversation brisk and business like, as they discussed the plan for the time and day, and the order and form of service. James told her Robbie wanted ‘the regular’, but Andrea, although drawing the line at stripping naked and painting herself while with ash and clay said she would research appropriate poetry or a traditional story to read as one of the readings. James was pondering on the wisdom of naming the baby, but Andrea was surprised, surely his faith accepted a baby as a person from conception? For herself, if naming the baby gave some comfort, she saw no problem. James had to finally warn her that the widower would be handcuffed to a prison officer.

“He didn’t kill her!” he added quickly to her startled face.

The vicar recovered her composure very quickly. “Well, it’s not the first funeral I’ve conducted with a member of the bereaved attached, so to speak, to a guard. I know I shouldn’t ask...?”

“Smuggling heroin. They both were. They didn’t give all of it up to the people who had coerced them into it and...” James shrugged.

“Oh!”

James explained all he knew of the case, and all he knew of Nadia, which was very little, and all he knew of Robbie and Mark’s rocky and lengthy history, which was almost as sparse. He found he kept insisting that Robbie was a good father.

“I’m sure he is. Sometimes people don’t see eye to eye in the best of families. Sometimes tragedy can drive a wedge.” She shrugged and smiled. “I normally offer to end such meetings with a prayer, but perhaps you feel I’m unqualified?”

“Why?”

“Well, in your church...”

“It’s not my church!” James said vehemently. He blushed. “No. That is to say... they didn’t want me. Don’t. Want. Me. And I can’t play by their rules anymore. God know how hard I tried to stay celibate, to pretend to - to make myself even – straight! I was so afraid, but God forgive me, Reverend, but Robbie makes me feel safe. He loves me. No one had done that before, not even – especially! – my parents. How can that be wrong?”

“Love is never wrong, it is Our Lord’s first commandment,” Andrea said. “Wait here. I have something for you.” She disappeared to the Vestry and returned a few moments later with a leaflet entitled ‘First Sunday’.

James took it with shaking fingers. First Sunday met at the United Reform Church of St. Columbia’s in the city centre. It was a evening of Christian fellowship, meeting once a month, for lesbians, gay men, bisexuals and transsexuals. James looked at its founding date: 2004. Too late for Will and Feadorcha. He felt like weeping.

“And you and Molly are most welcome to attend our ABC club here. I do know how isolating it is, stopping work to care for a baby. Please do come. You both would be more than welcome. And you and Molly, and your partner too if he wants to, are welcome to worship here or at St. Peter’s. And food for thought, James: both the ministry team at St. Columbia’s and myself bless civil partnership. Think about it. talk about it with Mr. Lewis.”

“Uh?”

“Forgive me,” Jenny said, suddenly appearing. James and Andrea looked up as she approached, James flushing pink again. “I didn’t mean to intrude or eavesdrop, I just came for the coffee cups. We’re washing up.”

“Of course.” Andrea handed her the mugs.

“Please forgive me, but I’m sure I wouldn’t be the only one who fondly remembers Valerie and would be happy to see her widower settled.” She beamed. “They were such a devoted couple. I’m afraid the last I heard was that he just wasn’t coping, that he had rejected his faith.”

That Robbie ever had a real faith was news to James, and he had said he was brought up Methodist. How much did he know nothing of, James wondered. Robbie had made it plain very early on his marriage was a no-go area. But of course, that was before they were together.

“Are you in a civil partnership, or planning one?” Andrea asked as Jenny left, wishing she hadn’t put her foot in it, feeling guilty at James’ stricken, confused face. “Actually,” the vicar went on, “I guess not, you described yourself as his sergeant. I doubt Thames Valley Police approves of couples working together. We are hardly Sparta!”

“Um, no,” James said numbly, fiddling with the leaflet. “I, um, don’t know where I stand, theologically, I um...”

“You see yourself as deliberately astray, turning your back on our Lord, as far as possible from His Grace until you deny yourself happiness and love, until you deny who you are, deny the person He created?” Andrea shook her head sadly, “He still loves you for who you are, James. He’s still calling to you.”

“I, er, I’m still not sure, and um, I’m not exactly sure if Robbie would want...”

“What? To marry you?”

“You mean a civil partnership.”

“Once upon a time a declaration to stay together was all it took to call it marriage. ‘A rose by any other name’. You are raising his granddaughter as your child; you live together. Are you sure he wouldn’t want to...?”

“No, no! He proposed. We will, we are, in March.” James held up his left hand. Andrea gently took his fingers.

“It’s a beautiful ring. And it must be so painful, struggling with the lively Molly with a broken wrist.”

“It is.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t want your union blessed in a church. He was married in a church.”

“Yes. Yes he was. But things were much more clear cut and straightforward for him, then. And he’s never forgiven God for taking his wife.”

“Well, God has given him you now, so perhaps he’ll unbend a bit. No pressure, James. But you are welcome. Anytime. In fact, when we both have time, we can have a real, proper theological ding dong. But do, at least, think about coming to the ABC Club. It’ll do you good to meet other parents, and Molly to meet babies and children. She’ll be an only child.”

“Thank you.” James smiled awkwardly. “I can hear Molly.” He looked up. Mary was approaching them with a grizzling Molly clutching a soggy cardboard cone attached to a ping pong head with a bit of cut up old tea towel glued to it. As James took her he looked quizzically at it.

“Perhaps she was a little young for a shepherd? She won’t let go of it without screaming the place down,” Mary said.

“Well, better than a toilet roll and cotton wool sheep, I suppose,” the vicar said briskly, her mind already moving to her next appointment. “Thank you for coming to us James. I’ll ring you and the funeral directors, and I’ll see you on Friday at 10 o’clock. And please do think about coming to our little Tuesday club here.”

“Oh yes, do,” said Mary. “The more the merrier at our little ABC. And think of poor Mike, he won’t be our only Dad at last!”

“And I’m sure once you’re settled you’ll be a great asset,” added Andrea meaningfully.

“I’ll think about it,” said James, distracted now by a wriggling Molly. As she arched her back and took a deep breath, going a bright scarlet, he knew she was about to scream. “I... I must go,” he stumbled out over Molly’s angry, bored yells. 

They walked the long way home, via the meadow and the Cherwell, feeding miserable, cold looking ducks, watching them slip and slide on the ice on the frozen edges of the river. He so wanted Molly to sleep before Robbie came home; he needed serious thinking time. However, it certainly didn’t look like he was going to get it as Molly clumsily chucked and ate the stale bread and quacked happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be my last post for a while, I have round #70,563 or something in the on-going battle with the state education system re my daughter's autistic needs!


	15. Deep thoughts in a new home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a family home...

James sat on the floor surrounded by packing cases and boxes, Molly asleep in her car seat by his side. He really should be unpacking, rearranging furniture that was just gathered in random groupings as left by the removal men, or something. Not just sitting here on the floor in a funk. Last night he and Robbie had put up their bed and Molly’s cot, still next to their bed in their new bedroom, a large master bedroom with an ensuite bathroom, and decided the rest could keep for the morning. But that was before they knew Robbie’s leave would be cut short.

That evening Robbie had let him sort the kitchen while he gave Molly a bath and got her ready for bed for the second ever time. Then he had driven out for a curry and baby food, taking an almost mummified Molly with him in the cold night, hoping she’d fall asleep in the car. She didn’t, but at least when he had got back James had been satisfied with the deep clean he’d given the kitchen and was beginning to unpack crockery and lay out equipment. Robbie had thought he was being ridiculous at his insistence at giving the kitchen such a scrub and treating it as a priority for unpacking, but you had to eat and who knew what bugs were lurking on the kitchen walls. The elderly man who had been living here until he’d died and passed the house to relatives had hardly been able to look after the house; it was a state. 

James remembered he’d turned his nose up at the idea of processed baby food, but he remembered his mother being very scathing at his aunts for using formula milk and jars of baby food. However, Robbie had returned with something quite pure and organic.

Now he was on his own in their new home, their joint and separate lives in boxes, the decorating and some repairing needing doing, although Robbie had done most of that in the week before they moved in. James was supposed to help, but he had just had to keep Molly from screaming. There was also still a lot of cleaning that needed doing, and it was three days to Christmas. Robbie had left him at six fifteen that morning following a call to tell him there had been a body found by the Cherwell, the Bursar of St. Hilda’s, and bang had gone his three weeks of leave he had taken, having far too much accruing before his retirement. James knew, just knew, that he was hardly going to see his fiancé for some time. Not only that, the increasingly cold case of the murder of Nadia Lewis was not going any more attention until at least he New Year.

At least, James reflected, some of the snow had melted and the roads were clear. At least the funeral a fortnight ago had been mostly free of snow, the heavy snow of late November had almost melted and there had been no fresh snowfall for days by the time the funeral came about. James had been in the background, his job chiefly looking after Molly and Emma, as Lyn had come down to pay respects to her sister-in-law whom she’d never even heard of, let alone met. Lewis stood shoulder to shoulder with his son, who looked so like a skinnier, taller Robbie Lewis, so forlorn and lost, a prison officer handcuffed to his other side. No one else came, no one knew her in the UK, her family not really noticing her when she was alive the other side of the world. James had been to more young people’s funerals than he should have done, but never one with so few people in attendance. Mark kept his head bowed for most of the service, and for the committal he only looked up when Reverend Lindsay asked him to throw in the earth. James could tell Robbie was desperate to hold his son, to comfort him, to put his arms around him and never let him go, but he preserved his son’s dignity in front of his guard, merely clasping hands on Mark’s arrival and a small hug and a squeeze of his shoulder after Nadia’s was cold in the frozen ground and he was being escorted back to the prison van.

Afterwards they had gone back to Lewis’ old flat, all except Mark, who had been escorted by the two officers back to the prison van and it had left with alacrity, leaving Lewis standing watching it, staring down the road for minutes after it was out of sight, looking lost and bewildered, like a child abandoned by its mother, or a more like, James had thought, like one of the old farm cats after her kittens had been taken away. He didn’t know what to do, he just rocked Emma’s buggy as she was screaming with cold and watched as Lyn and the vicar had walked up to him and spoke to him, daughter hugging her dad, Reverend Lindsay touching his elbow and murmuring something. James still hated the way Lewis blamed himself for Mark’s addiction and criminal behaviour. He could so easily have fallen into a worse addiction than nicotine, easily let his drinking slide in to something beyond his control, easily flipped from celibacy and fear of sex to wanton promiscuity and even prostitution. After all, Mortmaigne had loved him and he had learnt early on that men would give you attention and money if you gave them what they wanted with your body.

But it wasn’t like that with Robbie Lewis. He was so gentle, never demanded, never pushed, always went with what he wanted, even when/if he didn’t know what he wanted, except to please Robbie. You could go round in circles that way.

Lyn had made Scotch pancakes and a pot of tea while James had changed both babies’ nappies and Robbie sat nursing the brandy Lyn had forced on him. Thanks to the PNC they had been able to put a name to two of the four suspects, but of them there was no sign, but they hadn’t left the EU, or if they had it was on false passports. Robbie was desperate to catch Nadia’s killer before he retired, he had to be him, James knew. And that feeling he could understand.

James had felt a third wheel as Lyn and her Dad discussed Val’s funeral, about how they both had misjudged and mishandled everything to do with Mark and his ability to cope. Lyn even wondered if there was some problem with Mark that should have been identified at school, how he always took things too literally, how he was desperate to fit in at school, scouts and football, but was never successful at keeping friends. Emma was fed and then slept in Robbie’s arms but Molly just sat on his lap grizzling and staring at Emma as if she had never seen another baby. James wondered if babies of almost 10 months could be jealous. Had she already bonded with them, did she see them as her parents? This time she had not grinned at Mark, but given him her usual unblinking, solemn stare she had for everyone she didn’t know well.

“The vicar seemed nice,” Lyn had said. “She was telling me she invited James and Molly to go to her parent and toddler group at St. Frideswide’s.”

“Did she?” Robbie had responded. “Can’t see James somehow...”

“I am here.”

“You should go,” Lyn had said, “It’ll do you good. Emma and I go to one back home, on my day off, it’s good to meet other new parents and as Emma’ll get older it’ll do her good too. More for Molly, coz she will definitely be an only child.”

“Good point. Think about it pet. Being in a church that accepts you would do you good too, don’t you think? You planning me more grandchildren love?”

Lyn laughed shyly. “I keep bumping into Tim on my break. He suggested we have breakfast together after I’ve dropped Emma off at the hospital crèche before I begin my shift.”

“Always liked Tim.”

And so their conversation began to exclude him again but James didn’t mind. Lyn accepted him, which was all he cared about. And it was hard to follow anything the way Molly was moaning and crying. Had she recognized her father, he wondered? Had it unsettled her?

Now, in the new house, James shivered and hugged himself. More snow was predicted although it was currently too cold; according the BBC weather site it was minus six this lunchtime in Oxford. The radiators needed bleeding and James wasn’t really sure what he was doing. He had tried with the bedroom and it had gone disastrously wrong and he could already hear Robbie’s teasing in his head. But his landlord had always taken care of that side of things in his flat and before that he had either been in college rooms or his room at the seminary or at home with his parents.

Home. Parents. Mum.

James looked again at all the work to do and the momentarily sleeping Molly and sighed. He reached out and dug around in a box marked as ‘office/study’ and pulled out a writing pad and pen from among all his theology books and books on forensics, psychology and detection. Sitting crossed legged on the floor, still in his fleece, beanie and fingerless gloves, he pushed his glasses up his nose and began to write.

Dear Mum,

Please note the new address at the top of this letter. I have debated long and hard with myself whether to let you know my new address and if so, whether to telephone, text, e-mail or write. As you never answer my e-mails and I have no phone currently I hope you appreciate a letter. You could always rip it up. I’m sure that would be most satisfactory.

I cannot give you a phone number, I’m afraid. I’ve had to return my work phone and have yet to buy my own mobile and as we only moved in yesterday, we haven’t had a chance to get a landline connected. 

I know you of old Mum, and you have honed in on ‘no job’ and ‘we’ and are worrying which to fret over first! So let me reassure you, I have not been dismissed as you and Dad so frequently predicted. I’m still a DS, but I am taking a years’ paid leave. This leave, in the general scheme of things, is called maternity leave, but it is not really the correct description for me. Or perhaps it is? You decide Mum.

My partner and I are adopting his granddaughter. Her mother is dead and her father, who is currently on remand awaiting court for heroin smuggling, cannot cope with her and has signed away his parental rights to his father (and me). Yes, ‘his’, yes, ‘drugs’, and yes ‘granddaughter’.

Fine Mum, I know you are now fuming, but I am happy. I am with my old boss, Robbie Lewis. I have told you about him, my DI? Well, my fiancé now, we are getting married in February. Of course, not a ‘proper’ marriage, a civil partnership. But he had given me a diamond engagement ring and it feels close enough to me to be real. I love him. He loves me. I love Molly too; they are the best things to have ever happened to me.

When Robbie and I finally got together after years, on my part, of silent, unreciprocated (so I thought) adoration, I was the most happy I have been in my life. But then it became even better. I can’t say miraculous, as that would be blasphemous, and I do know my love is unnatural and sinful, you don’t need to remind me, you or Dad. I also can’t say magical, because of all the pain and suffering Robbie has gone through with his son during all this that has led to Molly becoming our daughter.

Robbie is doing this because of duty and love of a grandparent, because there is no one else, because otherwise Molly would go into care. I am doing this because... I don’t know Mum, I don’t really know why.

I never, ever dreamed of becoming a parent. I always knew I was gay and I also always knew I had a vocation. Thought I had a vocation, I should say, the Church begged to differ. How can we know what God has planned for us? When I first picked her up, Molly was as vile and as scary as any baby could be. She was in a nappy days old; foul smelling, full and leaking. She was crying a pitiful wail that went right through your brain. Robbie was ignoring her, wanting her to go into care and refusing to look at her, let alone acknowledge she was his granddaughter. It was the shock, I think. I didn’t know what to do but I held her, it’s what you do to anyone crying, isn’t it? As soon as I did she stopped crying, opened her eyes and looked up at me with Robbie’s dark blue ones I felt connected. The connection just grew over the following three or four days when it was essentially just the two of us stuck in Robbie’s flat as I had to figure out everything from scratch from remembering you with my cousins and babysitting for Martha nearly ten years ago!

Molly is fantastic. She’s so beautiful and bright. In enclose photos, and I can just hear one or two of Dad’s choice phrases right now. But he will be wrong, whatever nasty word he picks. He needs the word Abo. She’s one-quarter Australian aboriginal and one-quarter Greek and half English. Isn’t she lovely? She’s ten months old now; she’s been with us for almost five weeks. When she came to us she was addicted to heroin. Can you imagine anything more abusive and cruel? I can’t, and I’ve been through a lot as a child myself, although, of course, you chose to ignore that.

They, that is the doctors, experts, tell us that Molly will have ‘an acquired learning developmental disorder’. But they are wrong. She is so bright. They say she will have ‘language acquisition delay’ but she copies sounds and says sounds that sound almost like words already. They are wrong. She looks bright to you doesn’t she Mum?

I don’t know why I keep asking questions, I don’t expert an answer. You will probably have ripped this up before you have even read this far. Never mind, you have my new address which is all I wanted, in case of some family emergency where you might, for some reason, need to contact me.

With love,

Your only child,

James.

James looked up, surprised to see it was dark. He got up, the sky was heavy, grey, laden with snow or sleet. It didn’t feel quite so cold now, he noticed. He looked out at the wrecked front garden. That was going to take some work in the spring, as they would the back. Molly was going to need a safe place to play come the spring. Robbie had regretted giving up the allotment and fancied growing vegetables at the back too. It would take a lot of clearing, digging over and laying turf. It was a wasteland.

They had been so lucky to get such a big house in Summertown at a knock down price. Until Robbie found and suggested this they had had to consider downgrading to something smaller, with James out of work for a year and Robbie about to retire a mortgage suddenly proved more difficult than expected. They began to look at smaller properties, starter homes and crumbling down Victorian two up, tow downs in Jericho and off Cowley Road and larger, new houses in places like Bicester and Didcot. 

Until they found this, life had deteriorated into a series of rows that had terrified James to the point of another full blown panic attack like he had had when his memories of being raped had returned.

The panic attack had terrified Robbie too. He hadn’t witnessed the first. James had found himself lying on floor in his boyfriend’s arms, Molly screaming in the background.

“James pet, you have to breathe. That’s right love. Breathe. S’sh. I’m sorry, I never realised... You’re tired love. How about I take Molly out of your hair, take her for a drive; buy us a takeaway. You can have a long soak in the bath, read a book, eh?”

“I’ve cooked and it’s Molly’s bath time,” James had said stubbornly.

“Look pet, I’m sorry, but we have to sort out...”

James stumbled to his feet, grabbed Molly from the high chair and stormed into the bathroom, locking the door on Robbie.

“James! What has got into you? I said I was sorry. Sorry for shouting! Sorry for suggesting Cowley or Didcot! Look, if you just let me...”

James opened the door. “I can’t. It’s for your kids.”

Robbie sighed. “It’s not. Certainly not the money from Morse.”

“Then it’s for Molly, her future, her education.”

“Look!” Robbie shouted and James flinched. He took a breath and continued, trying to stay calm, every time he tried to talk about using the huge amount of untouched money James wouldn’t consider it, although he could not understand why. “If you just let me top up the money from me old house, Val’s insurance and the money I got from Morse we just don’t need to worry about your small mortgage, we can buy us a decent house outright.”

James glared. Molly burbled in the background, splashing and making her ducks quack as they smashed into each other.

“If we’re careful, we can still invest the rest for Molly.”

“But what am I?” James yelled. “If I don’t own the house at all? What will I be? Your toy boy? Rent boy? Call boy? You’ll own me! You’re buying me! That’s not right! What rights will I have to the house? To anything? Molly even? What?”

Robbie rubbed is eye and the back of his neck as he sighed deeply, taking a step towards James, to hold him. This was what it was all about, the money, the relationship. Mortmaigne paid for some of James’ schooling, he knew, although James hated to admit it. James’ father had taken money from other men to have sex with his son! God knew he and Morse and tried to find evidence to stop it, but it had already gone on for three years. James was feeling insecure and confused, obviously, about being kept anyway.

“Calm down pet, you’ll...”

That was when both together noticed Molly had slipped under the water. Robbie grabbed her and patted her on the back, she was breathing immediately, giggling even, but James stood as still as stone, hand over his mouth.

“She’s fine, she’s okay, look. See? Will you look at you Daddy pet, he’s such a worrier!”

“She might have died,” James whispered.

“But she didn’t, did she? For fuck’s sake, go and have a smoke. I’ll bath her, get her ready for bed.”

“Can you...?”

Robbie finally saw red; he snapped over the top of James’ words, “You act as if I’ve never bathed a baby before! You moan I’m so bloody old fashioned and useless, but the truth is lad; you don’t let me near her. Away with you, have a smoke, have a coffee, calm down and we’ll talk rationally. But think on this: we are adopting Molly, we James, together, and we are getting married. You have all the rights I have. I can make a will, now, in case you’re so worried something is gonna happen to me before our wedding, but really James, I’m not buying you, we are starting a life together, coz we love each other. We can do that, just like straight people. So don’t think of it as any other way, please? Have you gone to that parent group at church yet? It’ll do you good. Think about it, please. And as for the money, Val would want to see me happy and settled, so don’t you tell me anything different. And so would Morse.” As he spoke, calming down as he went on, he rocked a giggling Molly who was pulling his hair. Suddenly the naked Molly, still wet from the bath, urinated over her Dad.

“Ergh!”

James laughed, “I’ll leave you to it then,” he said, exiting the bathroom and closing the door. He was damned if he was having a smoke though, he was doing so well on the patches.

After Molly had fallen asleep and been put down in her cot, she rarely ever actually fell asleep in her cot, she wouldn’t scream and rattle the bars and bang her head, Robbie sat down next to James on the sofa.

“We need to talk.”

“Shout, you mean. I can’t take anymore rows Sir.”

“Stop calling me sir or I’ll start another one.”

“Don’t. I’m sorry.”

“I’m teasing you James. Rows happen pet. That’s relationships for you, you take the rough with the smooth. What’s got into you, eh?”

“I thought you hated me. You made me feel trapped. I love you and I love Molly, but if you didn’t want me I wouldn’t be able to see Molly.”

“James...”

“I never see you!”

“Aye, I’m busy. I’m trying to find who killed her mam. I’ve been trying to tell you for days about these patchy leads I’ve got but you don’t want to know. I would have thought you’d want to help, but all you do is talk about Molly and it’s doing me head in. Where’s my bloody brilliant sergeant gone, eh? I need your input on this.”

“But I’m not your sergeant, am I Sir? You talked me into giving it all up for Molly and now you moan she’s all I talk about! You’re out sometimes twelve, fourteen, sixteen hours and apart from Mrs Hiscock coming in for two hours once a week I do not see anyone but Molly. What else can I talk about? Twice you’ve said you’ll be home – twice! I’ve missed band practice. The guys will be forgetting what I look like. And I’ve been invited out for a beer by the few friends I do have, or I should said, did have! Because I always have to say no but everyone has stopped ringing. No one wants to me for a coffee instead in the day, as they’re all at work and quite frankly, don’t want to meet me with a baby in tow. I haven’t got a bloody thing to say, have I? Well, I’m sorry I bore you...”

“James...”

“Was this what it was like for Val? She must have been a bloody saint! And what’s your excuse to me? Because you could blame Morse, or your previous DI, or shift work when you were still uniform, but you’re the bloody DI now. You could get away any time you liked.”

“I’ll try... I do try! God James! If there is a drug smuggling ring in Oxford, an international drug ring that tortures and kills kids – and Nadia was just a kid, years younger than Mark – I want to find it, shut it down, the works.”

“Face it... Sir. You are going to have to let it go. It’s too late. Your leads are less than shaky; they’re patchy, imaginary even. Is that the input you wanted?”

“I am never giving up!”

“But what about me? Nadia is dead, but I’m dead on my feet caring for her daughter. I just want a little time...”

“Are you saying you want to stop this? Go back to work? Give her up? God, James, I can’t cope on my own, they won’t let me adopt on my own, I’m too old. You can’t... You made me love her James and now...”

“I don’t want that! I keep telling you, Molly is the important one here. I just want a bit of time to myself, Robbie, just a bit, please. You know she never bloody sleeps...”

Robbie sighed and pulled James into a hug. James remained stiff and intractable.

“I’ll try my best. But really, if your so called friends won’t meet you in their lunch hour or want anything to do with Molly... who are these people anyway? Where were they when you needed someone after you were raped? Eh? And why have I not met them?”

“What?”

“Well, it’s just a bit much, to suddenly spring on acquaintances that you are gay, in a relationship and have adopted a baby and given up work, isn’t it? Who are they?”

“People from the band, their wives...”

“Seem really nice, decent people. And maybe they are busy, but why don’t you take Molly, eh pet? She’d love it, sit her in the car seat, let her listen to the rehearsals.”

“And what about her bedtime routine? Bath and...”

“She sleeps fuck all!” Robbie snapped. “As far as I can tell, nice bath and bedtime story do sweet FA. She sleeps when she sleeps, never in her bloody cot. If she wants to, she’ll sleep at a rehearsal, and if no, you’re not pacing the floor going crazy, are you? Eh? Come on, love, think on it.”

“Well, maybe I could give her a bath and take her out in her pyjamas...”

“And why aren’t you going to that ABC club the Reverend Lindsay invited you to?”

“I... well, I’m not...”

“What? C of E? Clean enough? Godsake, James!”

“What?”

“Are all those mums even Christian, eh? How many are just living with their boyfriends or single mums, eh?”

“I s’pose...”

“And those nice ladies that run it, you could help out...”

“How?”

“How! Bloody hell, man, you were nearly ordained! Serve. Read the lesson. Play your bloody guitar. Or does sleeping in the same bed as me rule you out of being fit? I don’t think so and neither does the vicar...”

“But...”

“But nothing. What would Jesus do? Turn you away? In your loneliness? Did he not tell people to love and not judge? Did he not say let the little children come to me? Did he not say that if anyone hurts any of these little ones it would be better to have a millstone tied around their neck and dropped in the deepest ocean that face God’s judgement. Oh, don’t look like that, for all I take the piss and granted, I don’t know much, but me Mam did send me to Sunday school and Val was big in the church, so, I do know one or two things that you, in your self-loathing, seem to forget.”

“What?” James was scowling.

“Love.”

“What!”

“Jesus’ message. Christianity’s basic message. Love. And love is never wrong. Do you still love me?”

“Of course I do! I’ll never, ever stop loving you!” James relaxed in Robbie’s hug and held him back, tightly, curling arms and legs around him, putting his head on his shoulder.

“Well then. You love Molly, eh pet?”

“Of course!”

“Look James, we knew this wasn’t going to be easy. If you want to sleep through the night I’ll take her tonight when she wakes, okay? You tell me when your next practice is and I’ll try to get home, hand on my heart James...”

“Robbie, don’t make promises that you...”

“I’ll try. And if I fail, just take her with you. Alright?” Robbie said fiercely. He hugged James back tighter and tried to kiss him. This was obviously the wrong move, James pulled away abruptly, sitting up straight and hugging himself.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re always bloody tired!”

“You said...”

“Aye, and I meant it. Mean it. I just didn’t know it would take so long...”

“I’m sorry!” James spat out like an accusation before getting up and storming out...

So many arguments over the past few weeks with so many triggers: James’ isolation, his exhaustion, along with Robbie’s continued guilt over Mark and his rising anxiety as his retirement approached. He was already over sixty, he should have retired the past June, but Innocent wanted to hang on to him until the end of the financial year. He kept getting head hunted from various organizations and charities, if there hadn’t been Molly to consider, he could have landed himself three or four plum part time jobs. He was still considering one or two, and the fact that these offers had not been rejected out of had increased James’ anxiety. He had no bloody intention of being a stay at home house husband and full time Dad forever, however old bloody fashioned Robbie was. It took several reassurances from Lyn that her Mum had worked plus voluntary work and was a local councillor some of the time. She had to concede her grandmother had been heavily involved and there was no one around like that. Which had led James to get itchy about his parents and that had made him plain miserable...

Now, he twirled his mother’s letter in his fingers, wondering if he could trust his mother to baby-sit, as he watched the swirling snowflakes. He sighed and headed for the kitchen, putting on the kettle and fetched bread, realising he ought to have lunch before Molly awoke.

There had been endless arguments about sex, money, work, house hunting, Molly, Mark, his faith... it had been awful, with James trapped in a one-bedroom flat with a baby who never slept and a partner who was never home. Molly slept four to five hours a night and maybe another two or three during the day. No wonder Robbie ran away. True, he made it back to look at houses, but he hadn’t bothered for band practice, even after James had made him realise how important it was. And he loved Molly too, he really did, it’s just his eyes would glaze over at James’ in depth descriptions reactions to various songs, books, toys and TV shows.

I must try to do better, James decided now, watching the flakes. Although, he had started to take Molly with him to band practice, and he had felt a little more supported as all three guys had made such a fuss of her, and the wives and girlfriend had begun to ring him up in the day time and invite him for coffee, they all had small children too. He had started to feel less keyed up, and encouraged by his new friends, he had started to go to the ABC Club at St. Friedswide’s. So he already had more to talk about, and now, even more, he thought, going back to fetch a screaming Molly, looking up at the paint peeling walls and out of the window and the decrepit garden. Robbie had given him a free hand on the decorating and organizing of the garden, despite the back end where he planned a veg plot.

“You chose, you point me at a wall and I’ll paint, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Worked that way with Val. I’m likely to fall asleep over a paint chart. I’m sure whatever you chose will be tasteful pet.”

Maybe not then. Although, he had his eye on a wooden play frame – climbing frame, swing, slide and Wendy house from ELC he wanted for the summer, once the garden work was complete and Molly was bigger. He could show Robbie that...

Molly was yelling fit to burst a blood vessel; she was purple again. She stopped as soon as James picked her up, quietening down and sighing, wriggling in his arms. He showed her the snow through the window.

“More snow Molly. Pooey snow. Yucky snow. Daddy hated snow. He wanted to post a letter to his Mummy. Can’t now.”

“Pah!” said Molly. “Yuh!”

“Yes. Daddy is hungry. Is Molly hungry? Does Molly want a boiled egg, maybe?”

“Egh!”

“Egg it is then darling.”

While James boiled eggs and made toast and coffee for himself, heating follow on milk for Molly, back on proper milk now her stomach had settled for good, he reflected on how even after he had agreed to just using Robbie’s money house hunting in the snow, in December, the winter after the collapse of the banks, had not been easy. Until Robbie found this house, they had only found one ideal house they both liked. It had been perfect. Smaller than this one, but in the right catchment for good schools, in the right neighbourhood and near to the University Parks and St. Giles in Park Town. However, in the end it was ‘suddenly removed from the market’.

James snorted with ironic humour at the memory.

They arrived at five, as pre-arranged by the estate agents, welcomed with a warm smile and the smell of freshly brewed coffee and chocolate muffins baking in the oven. They left their coats and Molly’s car seat as the older woman showed them around, telling them what a happy family home it had been, but with the children grown and flown and her husband retiring they were down-grading.

“I’m retiring too,” Robbie had said with a smile.

“It’s so nice of you to help your son look around.”

“Oh, James isn’t my son,” Robbie said, still smiling. “And we’re both looking for somewhere bigger, for all of us,” he ruffled Molly’s curls. She squeaked a protest and clung to James tighter, glaring at her Dad, daring him to do it again, so he did so. Molly hit her head where she’s been stroked and scowled. Robbie stuck out his tongue and then pulled a stupid bunny face.

The homeowner had given a confused, “Oh!” to Robbie’s answer but she was soon smiling indulgently at the gentleman and his granddaughter, as she thought then. She turned to James, “Couldn’t your wife join you?” she asked James kindly.

“My wife!?”

“This little one’s mother.”

“I’m afraid she died,” Robbie said.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she squeezed James’ arm sympathetically, confusing him but giving him no chance to correct her as she continued her monologue of how the house was a wonderful place to raise a child, the garden made for children to play safely; the good play parks, swimming pool and local nursery nearby; the good primary and secondary schools local to the area; the good bus connection to the city centre; the lovely nearby shopping parade; the local meadow with the Cherwell running through and a short walk to Port Meadow and the canal...

Eventually, after a tour of upstairs, the loft conversion and extension, downstairs through the reception and utility rooms, they were back to the kitchen being offered coffee and muffins when she suddenly exclaimed, “It’s lovely how your father-in-law is supporting you. I think you’re both being so brave!”

James and Robbie exchanged confused, worried glances before James said firmly, “I think you are under the wrong impression. We’ve adopted Molly. Robbie is my partner.”

“What? Why did you lie to me?”

“We didn’t,” James protested.

“Actually, you never gave us a chance...” Robbie began but the woman seemed to have a complete personality chance in front of their eyes, going from pink to red to purple, her face twisting with rage and hatred.

“Get out!” she snarled, pushing them towards the door, not wanting to give them a chance to wrap Molly up against the cold and be put back into the car seat. James was so angered at this he started to shout back at the woman to give him a chance to get Molly’s coat on. Molly picked up on his anger, affecting her deeply. She began to yell in a distressed, high pitched, frightened wail.

That was when Robbie saw red, informing the homeowner how she was homophobic, ignorant, discriminatory and breaking equalitarian legislation, plus, of course, pushing them amounted to common assault. He showed his warrant card for good measure, which had the benefit of stemming her hate-filled litany, at least. Instead, she stood, arms folding, glaring, as James struggled with the squirming Molly to get her into her snow suit, hat and mittens and strapped into her car seat. 

“You know, it’s a shame, we were going to make you an offer,” Robbie said sadly. “With the current economic crisis and the time of the year I doubt you’ll find another buyer quite so prepared to meet your asking price. Ready James?” he opened the door for James who was carrying the car seat containing a now snuffling, sulking Molly.

“Still think we should arrest her Sir,” James said pointedly, staring blankly at the woman, as he went outside.

Robbie glared at the woman as he answered, “The estate agent won’t send us any more properties if we arrest the owners. But yeah, we should, for assaulting a minor if nothing else,” and he slammed the door.

The next day the house was taken off the market, even though they had put in an offer at the over-inflated asking price. It really had been a nice house.

Then they had had no luck until attending a neighbourhood watch after a spate of burglaries nearby Robbie had spotted a battered For Sale sign on this huge, dilapidated but otherwise perfect three story, five bedroom detached house in Summertown, a quarter a mile from his current flat. They had got it for a rock bottom price, the work it needed, but it was all theirs. It had meant two more weeks in the flat as first the plumbing and the electrics were taken care of. Then the master bedroom and nursery were painted, supposedly by both of them, but in the end mostly by Robbie as James held the screaming Molly, although Robbie refused to do the ceilings, claiming it would do his bloody back in and James was practically as high as the ceiling anyway! It wasn’t true of course, as the house had very high Victorian ceilings, but James gladly took a break from Molly’s constant screaming in his ear to do his share of painting. Molly hadn’t liked it, not the being in yet another strange place – the last two months of her life had been nothing but change, travel and new places and people – and not the smell of the paint.

And so, here they were, a new home together, with two bedrooms and the kitchen half sorted out, boxes still unpacked, furniture on random places about the living room and only three days to Christmas with Lyn and Emma supposedly, snow permitting, coming down for the whole holiday period.

“Egh! Egh! Egh!” Molly demanded from her high chair, banging her fists, dragging James out of his reverie.


	16. Settling over Christmas I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's what you get when your computer dies in October and isn't sorted 'til after Christmas - 3 months behind and Christmas at Easter!!!

Lewis came in, exhausted, at just gone midnight to find the house in darkness. Of James there was no sign. Both cot and bed were pristine and unslept in. In the main, front reception room he found James’ sofa, his chairs, James’ coffee table and all their bookcases, with boxes and boxes of books, CDs, records and DVDs placed in front of the various shelf units and cases. None of the wall units were screwed down; instead Lewis found a note in James’ loopy gothic hand,

‘Leave until walls painted? Or not?’

He headed for the kitchen, tripping over the buggy in the hallway. He found them in the second, smaller living room, which ran parallel to the kitchen and dining room. Here, curled up on his old, squashy sofa, was James, huddled up under the spare duvet. Molly was muffled in a sleep suit and little jumper and hat, asleep in the playpen, sucking the edge of her blanket, which she had kicked off. She was clutching her rattling, variously textured rag doll and the dog-shaped teething ring lay by her side.

Lewis pulled the blanket back over Molly, picked up the plate and plastic bowl, mug, wine glass, lidded beaker and teated milk bottle, put them on the tray and tiptoed out. He slept fitfully for a few hours, alone, the pertinent facts about the supposed murder of the college’s domestic bursar still worrying at him and again reliving and reviewing the horror of Nadia’s murder – where in his dream world of the subconscious Mark was not only a suspect but guilty and charged – going around and around in his brain, before waking just before six. He hurriedly showered, shaved and dressed before going downstairs to the back room. He wasn’t surprised to find James and Molly up, although up was a too optimistic description. They were still dressed as they had been last night, Molly sitting on James’ lap holding her bottle while he read to her from a picture book. Something looked wrong, odd, but it took him a while to realise it was James, wearing narrow, tortoiseshell glasses sitting quite comfortably on his nose, which was the difference, or rather, the main one. The other was, apart from two days worth of blond stubble on James’ cheeks, was his wild, unbrushed hair, far, far longer than he had ever seen. James looked up at him through pale, unmade up eyelashes and smiled.

“Hi. Long time no see. How are you?”

“Bloody dreadful.”

“Did you see the forecast? Have you looked outside?”

“What?”

“Snow. Like November. Too much snow. Worse in Manchester again.”

“Oh hell!”

“Hal!” yelled Molly. “Dah!”

“Oi! Naughty little princess!” Robbie said, taking Molly from James and sitting next to him. “Mind you, however much I’m desperate to see our Lyn and Emma, the state of this place! Looks like you made a start pet, but everything needs painting, shelves, curtains, the works. See you hung them here.”

“There’s so much to do, but Molly takes so much time, and there’s other stuff to do.”

“What other stuff?”

“The turkey. Food, drink, presents, you know?”

“Hell! The tree. Tell you what, I’ll make time to pick up the tree, if you get the rest, okay? Can you do a Christmas dinner?”

James shrugged. “I can do a basic Sunday roast, I suppose it’s like that on a bigger scale.” He smiled. “I shall do my best, won’t I Molly?”

“Dah dah!”

“I suppose if the spare bed is up and there’s curtains in that room, we’ll survive. If our Lyn can make it.”

“It’s supposed to be growing milder, this snow isn’t supposed to stay like before. Let’s just work on the assumption she’s coming, okay?”

“I’d better go. Laura wants to see me early and Innocent wants me at nine.”

“What about breakfast? Coffee even?”

“I’ll grab myself something after I’ve seen Laura. To be honest, the state of the poor girl’s head I don’t want to be going into the PM with a fully belly! But I’ll get myself something, promise love. Alright?”

“Make sure you do. I can’t see Ngoti fetching you bacon rolls like I did.”

“No. Or going for a pint. It’s alright, I got Alec to fetch me food.”

“How’s Sophie Mercer? Or Sophie Ngoti, I should say now.”

“Pregnant.”

“Is she?” James smiled. “That’s great. I think. Does she...?”

“Yeah, they’re both very happy.”

“I meant, how’s she settling in with Knox?”

“Not good. You know what a sexist pillock he is. No, she’s transferring back to uniform after the baby. Front desk at Cowley. A woman in uniform complete with dark blue hijab instead of hat is good PR there.”

“Shame, she had the makings of a good detective.”

“I dunno. She had some great leaps of the imagination but her observational skills were a bit below par at times and paperwork and correct procedure bored her. She’ll probably be great at community work or PR after the baby. Nothing like a white girl from a rough estate in a hijab as a police officer – as a Thames Valley poster girl! - to pull communities together, eh? ’Specially a bright girl with a sociology degree.”

“Oh. Politics. Are you quoting Innocent?” James asked cheekily.

“Oh, s’pose I’m not clever enough to work that out?”

“Not really your world view. Too closed and cynical for you.”

“I can be cynical. I have me moments.”

James looked over his glasses. Robbie thought it was so damned sexy, but he didn’t say so, he had to go and Molly was wide-awake, eating her book by the looks of her. Instead he lightly kissed James on the end of his nose before he said, “I might have been para-phrasing Innocent. I’ve gotta go love. Bye,” and, after kissing Molly too on the nose and plonking her back onto James lap, he got up and left for work. James stared after him contemplating the day alone in a half-formed home while Molly stared after rubbing her nose crossly. Did she say Dad could make her nose wet like that?

*

As soon as the madness of the rush hour of crowded buses, some of which were late and some cancelled due to the snow, causing chaos according to Malcolm Boyden on Radio Oxford that James had kept on in the background for company, he left to walk to the Banbury Road to hopefully catch a bus to the city centre. He took the buggy to carry the shopping but regretted it almost instantly as the paths had not been gritted and pushing through fresh snow, old snow, dirty and frozen, along with slush in the patches where the weak sunlight had already done its job of melting, was almost impossible. He found himself lifting Molly and buggy over patches and didn’t really fancy doing the same with a buggy loaded with a turkey, a ham, a salmon, potatoes, vegetables and presents for Molly and Emma. Still, it was a balmy two degrees Celsius; perhaps the snow might have gone on his return.

He got to Broad Street, and avoiding the mad crowds of panicked Christmas shoppers in the Cornmarket he walked down Broad Street turning opposite Trinity into Turl Street to walk half way down the tarmac half, turning into Market Street past Jesus College and entering the Covered Market.

The Covered Market was always an Aladdin’s cave of treasures at the best of times, but at Christmas time it was akin to time travel, with the smell of pies and cheeses, the butchers with the turkeys – feathers and heads still on – along with the whole, unskinned, venison and pigs and the feathered pheasants all hanging in front of their units; the live lobsters and crabs in their tanks in front of the fishmongers; the huge vegetable stall at the end as James entered, a colourful array that covered practically the whole width of the medieval building that housed the Covered Market, with all the vegetables, fruits, salads and nuts imaginable. And in between all these; the designer clothes, both for infants and spoiled children and those aimed at the more affluent student and tourist Oxford specialized in; the bric-a-brac and nik-naks for tourist and student alike; the many second hand bookshops that appeared bigger on the inside; the specialist sausage shop and the cake shop, displaying their awesome edible works of art: this year a cake made to look like the Radcliffe Camera with marzipan and sugar carol singers standing before it. All over this was laid over the small of freshly coffee from the many, many cafes and the delicatessen and the chocolate from the chocolatier.

As a child James had loved the occasional trip to Oxford’s Covered Market with his mother, although everything was out of his family’s Christmas budget. He suspected that many a year their Christmas bird was a poached one. His Dad, among his many other low level dodgy skills, was a master poacher.

This was Molly’s first Christmas, his first Christmas with Robbie, and for months, without his really realising or noticing, it had kind of crept up on him, everything, but everything, had gone on Robbie’s credit and debit cards. James had money in the bank and serious shopping to do!

After an hour and a half, including a break for coffee and cake, nearly all the food shopping was done and the tree presents in a the form of a book and a pair of earrings for Lyn and a book and a silk tie for Robbie, James stood at the far corner from where he had entered, standing outside a shop called ‘The Farmhouse’. It sold cards, gifts and some toys.

He had thought Molly was still asleep, so quiet she had been, overawed by the crowds of people and the smells, so he was startled as she suddenly chanted,

“Ro So! Ro So!” This was what she called her rag doll James had named Rosie. As he had named her little teething ring/small cuddly dog Joey it amused James no end to hear Molly when she sat in her playpen talking to them she sounded as if she were speaking Judoon: “Ro So Jo,” she would say over and over again happily. However, this time James looked around, panicked, in case she had lost her comforter, but no, Rosie was still tucked into the blanket, strapped into the buggy with her owner. He then looked into the window display of large, perfectly crafted rag dolls, with hand-sewn dresses that would fit a real baby, woollen hair in plaits or bunches and genuine cotton white socks or striped stockings.

“I think they will probably have an over three tag on them,” he said gloomily to Molly and began to push the buggy away to the exit and the High. He had had enough. He was getting his contacts and then he was going home and driving to Toys R Us on the Botley Road. Molly began to scream and reach out towards the dolls. James remembered all the ‘no’s in his childhood, and in particular, one here, in the Covered Market, almost thirty years ago: a wooden rocking horse. He was probably just five or six, just after the ‘piano lessons’ had begun. Rose and Joe had dragged him out screaming. He hardly ever usually made a fuss but he had dug his heels in and protested all the way back to the Land Rover in the Westgate car park and then cried all the way home. That horse had ‘looked’ at him like it had wanted to belong to him. Scarlett had two rocking horses in the nursery, one almost the size of a real pony, both with real hair and furry bodies, plus she had a real pony! He hadn’t been able to understand why he couldn’t have a small, painted wooden one. It was little; it would have fitted into his little attic bedroom in the cottage. It didn’t have real pony hair or leather reins and saddle like Scarlett’s. It had felt so unfair to the then little, unhappy James.

James turned the buggy around. It wouldn’t fit in the small shop so he called from the door. As he suspected, the parental advisory tag said they were not safe for under three years old. However, the assistant produced a basket of smaller dolls with embroidered eyes and sewn on check dresses. They were only about six centimetres tall. The assistant made them wave at Molly. She grinned and reached out. James brought four, two blond ones for Emma and one dark skinned, black haired and one pale skinned brown haired one for Molly, then walked the long way around to the exit he wanted so they didn’t have to pass the window display again. He already knew what he was buying for her third birthday.

*

Once on the High he turned left, heading for his new opticians, where he had a three-month supply of 24-hour soluble contacts to pick up. As he walked he almost passed his barbers but his reflection caught his eye. His hair was starting to curl and stand up unmanageably, giving him an almost mad professor look. He pushed open the door and bumped the heavy, full buggy up the step and went inside. The owner, a genial Italian man, approaching sixty, looked up from his coffee. A new man, a youngish West Indian, was doing something artistic to a younger Nigerian man’s hair at the back.

“Mr. Hathaway! A long time no see. I begin to think you a no come and have found someone else to do your hair. And what is this? A little bambina?” He magically produced a lollypop and squatted down in front of the buggy, handing Molly the sweet.

“Hello little missy. Mr. Hathaway, you are a surprise. I didn’t think you did girls – boys either, but I thought you would do boys if you weren’t such a good Catholic boy! And now, here you are, with a girl and a baby!”

James, who with anyone else, would have shut down, hidden all feelings and made a sarcastic, polite, non-committal of a reply, laughed. “I don’t. That is, do girls. But I’m not celibate, well not quite. She’s adopted. It’s a long story but...” He gestured at Molly and put his fingers to his lips.

“Ah.” The barber stood up. “What have you done to your hair? Are you turning into a bloody hippie?”

“I’ve done nothing. It just grew,” James managed to sound affronted at the audacity of his hair to grow without his permission. “I’ve had my hands full with Molly since she arrived. Please, please Franco; sort it out. Please.”

At that moment Molly choked on her lollypop and had both men’s attention. She began to grizzle and cling to James and had to sit on his lap while Franco began to cut his hair and offered a barber shave. It proved impossible, however, as Molly acted as if the strange man was going to chop her Daddy’s head off. She was very protective. And very difficult and very loud.

Meanwhile, the young Nigerian student paid Franco’s new, young partner and left, smiling indulgently and the angry baby.

“Leroy,” Franco called, “Help!” he gestured wildly. “Leroy is my new business partner, Mr. Hathaway. Leroy Jones. He is already bringing in new customers. Now there is no hair we cannot do, eh? H’m? Is there?” He looked meaningfully at Leroy.

“Oh? Oh no,” Leroy replied, grinning, and grabbing Afro comb and a packet of something, he squatted in front of James and Molly. “The nice man wants to make your Daddy’s hair look nice, and I want to make your hair look pretty too, like a princess. Would you like that angel?”

“Wah?” spat out Molly.

“Pretty hair?” asked Leroy, reaching out to Molly’s thick, black, tangled hair – James did his best but the texture matted so easily and Molly struggled so much. She certainly had a lot more hair that the average European child of under one. Leroy looked curiously at James as he ran his fingers through Molly thick hair.

“She’s one quarter Australian Aboriginal,” he explained.

“Wow! You exotic little princess. No problem though.”

“Leroy will style Molly’s hair while I cut and style yours and give you a good shave. A deal Mr. Hathaway?”

“Free and gratis, a Christmas present,” added Leroy.

“Oh? Oh. Thank you.”

“Turn her around please,” said Leroy nasally, as Molly had taken a liking to him and was pulling at his nose.

Soon, James’ hair was washed, considerably shorter at the back and sides, and gelled to a perfection of neatness with a slightly longer top and he had the smoothest of smoothest shaved faces while Molly had neat rows of narrow corn rows, each ending with a pink bead and ribbon tied into a bow. She grinned and grinned and touched her hair, patting it and pulling at the little neat rows as she was shown her reflection.

“Beautiful bambina!”

“Gorgeous little angel cake!”

“You look so pretty. Pretty Molly. Say thank you to the nice gentlemen.”

“Now, coffee?” offered Franco, and while Leroy showed Molly some picture books that belonged to his two daughters (as did the beads and ribbons) James explained about her being his ex-boss’s – now his fiancé’s - granddaughter; about her being dumped on their doorstep, the murder of her mother and the discovery she had been used by her parents to smuggle heroin and their failed double crossing of the smuggling ring; about the arrest of her father and his deciding he wanted Molly to have a better life than he could provide; about how she had been neglected, not through malice but through inadequacy and addiction – their twisted plan had been to use the money for the smuggling to get Molly to the UK to her grandfather to raise.

“But they must have loved her very much in their own way, yes?” Franco said, before continuing to listen as James described about almost being coerced to give up work, his initial bonding with her, then resentment and now contentment; his attack in the flat and the struggle to find a new way with the man who had for a long time been his boss and a short time been his lover and then suddenly he was living with him full time with no work and no friends and a demanding, difficult baby.

“But you seem happy, yes? Children give you meaning. I remember each and every one of my children and grandchildren being born. Each time you think your heart is full but it grows big enough each time for more love. His son must break your man’s heart even as his little granddaughter mends it. He is very lucky to have you.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Hathaway. You are always so polite and kind. And do keep bringing Molly. She is a joy.”

James smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.” He stood up and took Molly from Leroy. She complained a bit before settling back in his arms. Leroy was the same colour as something that made Molly happy, someone that made her feel safe and sometimes afraid, someone that smelt of milk and warmth and sickness. Molly closed her eyes, confused, her baby mind a jumble of sounds, shouts, smells and feeling hungry, cold and afraid. She began to scream. James shushed her the best he could, pushing the buggy one-handed, holding her tightly in his other arm, murmuring comforting sounds and words, singing her the Obladi song; he smelt of coffee, sweet things – cake, hair mousse, soup – and his own smell. It became the safest thing in the world. Molly drifted into a lulled sleep in his arms.

*

James and Molly had not been back long when the doorbell rang. Water was on for pasta and James was putting away all the Christmas food shopping while Molly sat in her highchair eating cubes of cheddar and pieces of apple and carrot. Tired and stressed from trying to fit it all in the fridge he stumbled to his feet answer the door. He was stunned to find DC Alec Hooper standing there, big industrial tubs of paint in each hand. He grinned at James.

“Alright sarge? Or James, now, is it? That big brain of yours shrunk to the size of a pea yet with all the Thomas the Tank Engine and that?”

“Um. No. Actually, sometimes it feels like I have no brain at all, or it’s turned to cotton wool, or melted and poured out of my ears.” He smiled awkwardly. Things had never been easy or simple with Hooper, despite his kindness after the Black case or the Roschenkov one. “What are you doing here Hooper?”

“Alec. And that’ll be the lack of sleep. Boss said she’s not a sleeper. Mind wasn’t, but look at her now, eh? It’s the one with brains that don’t sleep, that’s what my wife used to say. Boss also said his Lyn’s coming down and the house in a state.”

“Did he ask...?” James stopped as Ngoti’s sister’s little red van pulled up. The one she used to transport her Sufi band around in. She and James had become quite close the previous summer, and both bands played multi faith gigs together, including the Cowley Road Carnival and the Asian Mela that summer. Ayesha Ngoti climbed out, followed by Ngoti’s other sister, Fatima the almost silent, in her long black dresses and very correct black hijabs, and Sophie, dressed in a pink puffa and hijab over purple skinny jeans and Uggs. Ayesha jeans were regular and baggy and her scarf tied behind the back of her neck, gypsy style, as always. She wore a chunky hand knit that must have come from a festival or ‘ethnic’ hippy shop. She waved over and kicked open the back of the van and the women grabbed dustsheets, paintbrushes, rollers and trays. James looked at Alec, puzzled, an angry, confused scowl furrowing his forehead.

“Boss tearing his hair out, stuck at work, with all this –” Hooper gestured to the house.

Just then angry screams intruded and James ran inside, leaving the door wide open. He returned a few moments later with Molly in his arms. By now the women stood with Hooper, politely waiting for permission to enter, and Ngoti himself was locking his car and approaching the front gate.

“Did Lewis ask you all to decorate?”

“No. it’s a favour. A surprise, like. He’s doing his nut in the office.”

“A Christmas pressie,” Sophie said.

“Or call it a housewarming gift,” added Ayesha.

“Or a baby-welcoming gift,” muttered Fatima shyly, reaching out to hold Molly’s fingers. Molly stared solemnly at the black tall, slim, elegant figure in front of her – swathes of black cloth covering everything but the beautiful unmade up ebony face.

“Or even a wedding present,” called Ngoti, jogging up the path and joining them, still in his work suit.

“Um?” said James, uncertain what to do or say.

“Just let us in then,” Ayesha said. “Point us at the right walls and we’ll get stuck in.”

“Got this job lot of paint off my brother,” explained Hooper. “I know it’s only magnolia, but it’s slightly better than this... er, sludge?” Hooper concluded, looking around the main reception room as they all followed James and Molly.

“I was, er... I was planning to go Christmas shopping after lunch. Lunch!” James rushed into the kitchen followed by Ayesha and Fatima. The pasta water had boiled away to nothing and the pasta dissolved into a beige gloop.

Ayesha soon had everyone organized with Ngoti, once changed into jeans and a tee shirt, and Hooper moving furniture to the middle and covering them in the sheets while Sophie, James and she washed the walls. Fatima, meanwhile, looked after Molly in the kitchen. After a while, in which she had repacked the fridge slightly more ordered than even very ordered James, cleaned and washed up and cooked, she called everyone through, instructing them quietly to wash their hands.

Soon everyone was tucking into chicken and bean joloff, pumpkin and beef stew with green beans. Molly had had bits of rice, pumpkin and beans before Fatima had added salt or spices and was full to the brim.

*

After lunch Ayesha practically pushed James and Molly out of the house to Christmas shop. It was snowing again. James wasn’t keen on driving at the best of times, but he absolutely hated driving in the snow. He’d planned to go around the ring road, but in a near blizzard he changed his mind. It probably doubled the journey time to Botley but he didn’t care. 

By the time he got home, everyone had gone. Both the reception rooms, the utility room, guest room and bathroom were a clean, bright magnolia and all the bookcases and shelving units were attached to the walls.

The excitement of Toys R Us and the journey had exhausted Molly and lulled her to sleep so James took advantage and unpacked the boxes of all the books, CDs, etc. and then wrapped up the presents. Molly awoke and screamed. James realised it was gone eight o’clock and there was no sign of Robbie.

He fed, bathed and got Molly ready for bed. They watched Baby Einstein with James rocking her after half an hour of reading and she was still frigidity and restless. They watched Milkshake anytime on his laptop but Molly was too young and grew bored. Desperate and not happy about driving about in the snow her strapped her into her buggy and pushed her back and forth, back and forth, rocking her, in front of the   
Baby Einstein Range – Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, Shakespeare, back to Mozart and so on... and so on and on and on....

*

Robbie came home at just after midnight to find Molly asleep in her buggy, the TV on playing the menu of a DVD and James flat out on the floor. He was in a bad mood, a little drunk and tripped over James and yelled, waking Molly, who started screaming. So did James, at Robbie.

Both men were tired, and said some unpleasant things that they instantly regretted, over the top of the yelling, shrieking, Molly, bucking so hard against the buggy straps the buggy was tipping and rocking. Fortunately, Molly was still tired, she’d been asleep for less than ten minutes, and so she managed to exhaust herself back to sleep in her temper.

“Thank God,” said James, flopping on the sofa. They were in the back room again. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“No, I’m sorry pet. I know how hard it is, but – wow! Look at the place! It’s bloody amazing. Fabulous!” He clapped his hands together in a drunken parody of glee.

James stared for a few moments, wondering where stoic Robbie had gone, then he explained, “Hooper, Ngoti and all his women arrived. Ayesha took control, Fatima cooked, and Sophie talked non-stop. Are you hungry? There’s some food left. It’s good.”

“Famished love. You heat it up, then. I’ll just take this little sleeping princess to bed and get out of this bleeding suit. Feels glued to me.”

“Hooper fixed the shower. And the heating. And I thought he hated me.”

“He’s trying to overcome his innate homophobia, I reckon. He’s a good cop, a good man. Ngoti’s acceptance of us never ceases to surprise me, but maybe I’m just Islamaphobic or something. Just bloody ignorant, maybe? What do I know?”

James just shrugged and headed for the kitchen. Soon Robbie joined him wearing his pyjamas, a battered thick cardigan and even more battered carpet slippers. He ate the spicy African food like a starving man, in between mouthfuls telling James of the two more bodies and the signed confession of a suicide note. A postgraduate student had been having an affair with the domestic bursar and her older girlfriend had discovered them in bed together sometime last week. She had been bipolar and it had flipped her into a mania and she had stopped taking her medication and disappeared, only to re-emerge to murder the bursar, and then her girlfriend before taking her own life.

“Media’s loving it,” Robbie went on. “Gay love triangle. Lesbians. Young, attractive ones at that. Big tabloid titillation. Then you got the mad angle, should they be in the community, blah blah blah. All ignorance and prejudice. God knows what the headlines will be in the morning. Even worse, God know how’ll they’ll quote me. Worse press conference of me life. Innocent had to stop me more than once. Going out with a bang, I think. Or just going out Out!”

“Seriously...?!”

Robbie shrugged. “Been awake so many bloody hours, all this is a tragedy, don’t need some misogynist, homophobic git from the Telegraph baiting me, do I?”

“Shit.” James sighed and shrugged. “The tabloids, flash in the pan, tomorrow’s chip paper...”

“’Cept the chippies won’t open tomorrow, will they?” Robbie sighed heavily.

“That’s not why you’re down, is it? And you seem really down,” James said, picking at the rice and chicken. “You’ve got a result, of sort, the paperwork and the press done, and you have your leave back.”

“Have you seen outside love? Nearly a foot of snow, and well over a foot in Manchester. M6 is closed again, so’s Manchester’s airport and rail station,” Robbie said gloomily.

James stopped picking at the pot and stretched out over the kitchen table covering Robbie’s hand with his own, long fingers squeezing gently. “Don’t be so pessimistic. They’re forecasting rain by Christmas morning. She’ll make it. Have faith.”

“And it’s Christmas Eve!” Robbie said, glancing at the clock.

“You didn’t get the tree, then?”

Robbie shook his head.

“Come to bed darling,” James said, suddenly shy, not used to using endearments, blushing as the word just fell out of his mouth.

“Oh aye?” Robbie raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“No!” James snapped, panicking, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s okay love. Alright, fine, okay. You know that pet,” Robbie rambled, as if placating a small child, or even a wild animal.

“I just meant, we’re both shattered, and for all we know Molly may wake up at any moment.”

“That girl! Is she ever going to sleep through the night?”

“I hope so!” James replied with some considerable feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed or even properly self-edited, but if I wait until I'm able to do it all it'll be a WIP progress for ever and ever... apologies for any glaring typos or mistakes.


	17. Settling in over Christmas II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is the teeniest of crossover references somewhere in this chapter - no prizes but I wonder who can spot it :)

They awoke late, Molly having slept all night through, to the sound of hissing rain on the roof, the pattering against the window pain and the drip drip dripping of a leak somewhere in the bedroom ceiling. They both leapt out of bed, Robbie attending to the leak as James checked Molly was still breathing, not quite believing she could have slept through ten straight hours. She was a little warm and a bit snuffily, and awake, but quiet. She had been lying watching the rain on the windows. She grinned at him.

“Dah dah!”

James washed and changed her; made Robbie tea and then both breakfast while Robbie grumpily fetched buckets, ladders and the toolbox and disappeared into the loft.

“It’ll hold,” he said later, showered, shaved and dressed and tucking into sausage sandwiches. “We’ll get someone proper in after Christmas. Will you look at that! Must have rained for hours, washed half the snow away,” he said cheerfully.

James, who had been on his laptop and had put on the radio said glumly, “More snow, not rain, in the North and further south too. And if it should freeze now, they’ll be black ice.”

“Better get the tree now then, and hope for the best. What’s the forecast for tonight?”

“This rain is supposed to spread.”

“Good. Well, I’m going to hope for the best and prepare for out Lyn, okay?”

James smiled, “Okay.”

“Where’s your specs?”

“I got more contacts.”

“Shame, you looked cute. But I like the hair. And Molly’s is amazing. How much did that cost?”

“Nothing. My barber’s new business partner did to distract her so he could cut and style mine. It makes it so much easier to look after. Her hair knots so easily.”

“Well, you both look great, don’t you princess?” Robbie said to Molly, who was intently pushing pieces of bread about her highchair tray. She ignored him, fascinated as she was by the bread balls and crumb. “Well then. I’ll wash up and then we’ll go buy us a tree.”

*

Molly didn’t like being taken from the highchair and her bread tidied away. She screamed all through the process of getting her out, coat on, strapped in car seat, buggy folded and in boot along with bag packed with nappies, wipes, drinks, rice cakes, pieces of fruit and toys.

“I’d forgotten what a palaver it is,” Robbie said cheerfully above her angry screams.

As the headed out of the city the snow lay as thickly as ever, and when they got to the bottom of Stockenchurch Hill, the start of the Chilterns, James stopped the car. Snow lay on the road heavily.

“This is the A40! A main route!” he spat out angrily.

“I’ll drive pet, I’ve had more experience at driving on snow than you.”

“Why?”

Robbie laughed, “Last bad snow you were a kid, but I wasn’t.”

“I don’t think there has ever been snow as bad as this in my life!” But he got out and walked around the car, allowing Robbie to slide over into the driver’s seat.

“’63, maybe?” offered Robbie when James had got in and belted up and turned to reassure Molly he had gone nowhere – she had started to whine and grizzle the minute he’s got out of the car.

“You were never driving in ’63!” James retorted. “I might be living with a grandfather, but you are never that old!”

“No,” agreed Robbie mildly, “I was a kid. I remember our Dad having to dig a path from the front door to the road though. But ’82 was bad, but that was after Christmas, January, and ’94, ’95? Ice if not snow, never went about minus 10 for weeks. Been thinking about it a lot. Come on, let’s get us a decent tree.”

“Tee!” yelled Molly as they drove very slowly and carefully up into the Chilterns, beech woods surrounding them on both sides. “Tee, tee, tee, tee, tee,” she yelled, pointing out of the window.

“Lots and lots of trees, yes Molly. Clever girl,” James said, looking back at her and smiling, paying attention to her burbling. “But Dad is taking us to a place for special Christmas trees.”

“Tee!” screamed Molly at the top of her lungs.

“Beats me how you know what she’s saying half the time.”

“You have to listen,” James said pointedly. “She’s desperate to speak, I think. She gets angry if she can’t communicate.”

“You read too much. She’s a baby. She’s not even one.”

“She’s clever!” James insisted. “I don’t care what Dr. Sayer said! She’s clever!”

Robbie put his hand on James’ thigh for a moment, but only a moment, he need both hands on the wheel on the steep snow covered hill, before saying, “You’re happy, aren’t you pet? You and Molls? You’re happy with the stay at home dad, househusband, thing, aren’t you? It wasn’t wrong of me to... to push you, was it?”

James turned to Robbie, putting his had on his thigh and squeezing gently. “Yes, I’m happy Robbie. I am. We are. Aren’t we Molly?”

“Tee!” Molly yelled. “Tee, tee, kwuk! Kwuk!” she shouted, pointing up as the Red Kites wheeled in the sky as they turned off the A40 towards Christmas Common, but also towards the Kites’ reserve.

“They are not ducks Molly, they are kites,” James said. “Red Kites.”

“They eat ducks for lunch, and small baby girls for dinner,” teased Robbie.

“Robbie!” James reproved.

“Kwuk!” yelled Molly forcefully. She knew what she had seen: a thing with feathers and wings flying in the sky. They liked bread. So did she. She liked to eat their bread when Daddy didn’t look.

*

There were an incredible number of cars in the car park at the farm store selling the pine trees from the plantation. There were also an incredible number of red kites wheeling in the sky, calling to each other in their unearthly pee-wit cry.

They took a walk first, Molly in James’ arms, chatting constantly, a babble of, ‘tee’, ‘kwuk’ and ‘Jo’ to a dog as her little toy dog was called Joey.

“Hooper!” Robbie exclaimed. 

“Sir!” Hooper was equally confused.

“James told me I owe you a thanks. It was amazing! I can’t... I just can’t figure out why?”

“You were pulling your hair out Sir, and there was me too, missing my girl. I spoke to Sophie, but it was her, Mo and his sisters mostly, you know? I just kicked the ball rolling. Any news on your daughter?”

“Snow might clear. Hopefully. If it does at least the house is fine, thanks to you. You say you’re missing your daughter. I thought Molly always came down for Christmas?” Robbie turned to James, “Alec has a Molly too. She’s a pathologist, at St. Bart’s, in London.”

“Oh,” James said non-commitally before wandering away as Molly began to scream with boredom and jealousy.

“Well, she told me missus she wasn’t coming. She’s got this thing for this bloke. Besotted she is. Won’t listen to reason. It’s not like it’s returned. He’s a right weird one too, odd. Wife thinks he sounds a bit autistic, a bit Aspergers, something like that? Anyway, turns out he’s gay too, shacked up now with a soldier – well, army doctor and this doctor’s throwing a Christmas party. ’Course, Molly’s insisting on going and that him and this doctor are just friends and she stands a chance. Told you, besotted she is. Wife’s been so depressed, so she’s done next to nothing over Christmas or anything for weeks. Worried she is, you know Molly and her little obsessions? So, I got Molly to agree to come down tomorrow lunchtime, and now we’re rushing about trying to get everything ready at the last minute.”

“She’ll get over it,” Robbie said practically. “She had a thing for her maths teacher, didn’t she?”

“Got out of hand that one, we had to move her to another school. Then there was that Indian doctor at med school.” Hooper shrugged helplessly. “She’s gonna get hurt, this guy doesn’t do tact. In fact, from she tells us, sounds like he takes great pleasure in being spiteful.”

“She’s a big lass, Alec. You can’t fight their battles or make their decisions once they’ve grown. God knows I’ve had to face that recently.”

“Um. Yeah. Sorry Sir.”

They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, both staring at the ground, before Robbie said, “She’ll be fine man. Don’t you worry. Merry Christmas Alec.”

“Merry Christmas Sir. You too James,” Hooper called, walking over. “And you too, little Molly. Love your hair sweetheart,” he kissed Molly on the top of the head before heading off towards the car park, carrying his tree. Molly glared and rubbed at her head.

*

They stopped in a country pub in Buckinghamshire for lunch, sitting by an open fire and eating fine, traditional pub grub – a pie and chips for Robbie, a Ploughman’s for James with four cheeses, many pickles and warm, freshly baked crusty bread (or possibly freshly microwaved bread, James wasn’t sure). Molly ate cheese, cucumber, tomato and pieces of bread from Daddy and chips from Dad’s plate, which made Daddy cross.

Then they went to a posh garden centre where many children were queuing, quietly and in awe, to meet Santa. He had an outside grotto, and with the snow, and a genuine reindeer tethered outside and a couple of out of work young actors as his elf helpers it began to really feel like Christmas. Molly was too young so they went inside to look at Christmas decorations.

Robbie welled up. He was so embarrassed, but as he stood there, leaning on the trolley, with Molly sat inside while James studied fairy lights, tinsel and beautiful tree ornaments, he couldn’t help remember it all, that first Christmas after.

The tree had been up, Val always put up the tree early, in time for Mark’s birthday – a birthday this year he had spent in a remand prison. The tree stayed up, ignored, the Christmas and beyond, the lights never switched on, the presents under it unwrapped, all over Christmas and beyond, months beyond. It had been March, no April, past Easter, when Lyn, off her face herself on weed, had persuaded her brandy sozzled Dad they should do something about it. So they did, just chucking it out – lights, tinsel, decorations, presents and ancient angel on the top, the lot! Lyn cried afterwards about the fairy doll, a doll she had donated to be turned into the Christmas angel at four, when she had still been Louise. Val had always kept and reused every year the decorations the kids had made at primary school. Robbie still regretted their passing. Mark never forgave him.

The garden centre had a teashop and James gently guided him to it and sat him down, wordlessly handing him his hanky before taking Molly to buy tea.

“Christmas is always full of bad memories as well as good. Everything is always more vivid at this time,” James said after he had sat down and poured Robbie a generously sugared tea, not adding, as he could have done, his father had pimped him to paedophiles for the first time at Christmas.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so guilty. She’s been gone nine years and I’ve got you now. I love you. I do. And I’ve got Molly. But I miss her so much it still hurts!”

“Of course you do. She was you first love, your true love. I could never replace her. Nor do I ever want to. What you had with Val sounds so special. Oh don’t Robbie! Don’t! I love you!” James wrapped his arms around Robbie, holding him tightly, praying Molly would behave herself sitting on the floor.

Molly had been watching the water leak from her Dad’s eyes curiously, but now Daddy was cuddling Dad instead of her and that was not on. She began to scream.

Hurriedly James pulled away but an older lady had got to Molly first.

“Hush lamb, hush my duck. S’sh. Is he alright?” she asked as she rocked Molly on her hip.

“Missing his wife. She died at Christmas time.”

“Take your time, there’s a little toy and book corner over there. I’ll be with your daughter.”

A while later, some sweet tea and an iced cinnamon bun later, Robbie was composed and let go of James’ hand. James fetched Molly.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. She’s a joy. Bright as a button. We’ve been looking at books, ain’t we me duck?”

“Buk. Dah dah!” grinned Molly, stretching out her arms. James took her and she snuggled into him.

“It’s lovely,” the old lady said. She welled up herself, dabbing her eyes with a lace hanky. “I’m sorry, but it’s so lovely to see you. Adopted baby. Lovely ring.”

“I’m sorry,” said James, confused, glancing at his left hand. He forgot the diamond ring half the time, it was just part of him, a happy, secure, belonging part of him.

“No! Don’t say sorry. Never say sorry. My brother... killed himself, many years ago now. Discharged from the army. Sent to prison. Twice! For what? Being in love! Showing that love! He’d found a job, a good one, despite the criminal record, then he found a lovely man, true love, I think it was, but this... bastard! This blackmailer tried to... Well, he couldn’t face prison again, and didn’t want his boyfriend to be involved so... so... He just couldn’t take it any more. If only he had waited. 1966 it was. If only he’d held out one more year...”

“He went to prison for being gay?” James clarified, appalled. Self-loathing and feeling suicidal he could identify with, but losing you job? Being arrested and imprisoned? Blackmailed?

“I just get so happy when I see things like that, you know? I know your man is sad, but you can cuddle him, hold hands, in public. Get married. Adopt children. It’s just all so lovely.”

“God! Yes it is. Absolutely lovely. Thank God! I’ve never thought what it must have been like... before. Thank you again. I hope you have a very happy Christmas.”

“You too young man, you too.”

What must it have been like, James wondered repeatedly, as they bought things for the tree and the house: as they drove out of the Chilterns and the snow and back into the flat wet plains of Oxfordshire; as they rushed into Wheatley Asda fifteen minutes before everywhere shut for the season; as they drove home, car packed with tree lights, decorations, crackers, sweets, chocolates, wines, spirits and beer. What must it have been like for a teenage bisexual Robbie Lewis when attitudes had been as hard and as nasty as they were back then?

*

When they finally got home it was dark and all the snow, apart from dirty white clumps here and there from snowdrifts and the remains of snowmen, and it was raining again, raining hard. More importantly, Lyn’s car was parked in the drive.

As soon as Robbie had happily climbed out of the car Lyn jumped out of her own and flew at him.

“Oh thank God! Thank God Dad! I’ve been worried sick! Was this the right house? Had something happened to you? To Molly.”

“We’re fine pet,” Robbie said, holding her and holding her, breathing in her hair and smiling and smiling and smiling.

“Out of signal. Hills. And snow. Plus your Dad left his at home quite deliberately.”

“I’m on bloody leave and I’m staying on leave,” Robbie murmured into his daughter’s hair.

“Alright James – sorry, my father’s former sergeant, the ex-priest, half his age.” Lyn giggled at their expressions as Robbie pulled away from her and James gave her an offended look. “You’ve not read the Telegraph then?”

“When would I ever read the bloody Torygraph? I’ll told you, last night...” Robbie turned to James. He turned back to his daughter. “Do you? I’m disappointed in you pet. Was he actually named?”

“Oh nah,” Lyn shook her head. “And I don’t read that vile rag, but it’s scary how many of my friends do. The texts and messages on Facebook I got this morning. I had a peek on the way down at some services when I stopped for tea and to feed Emma. It’s okay,” she turned to James. “No names, no faces, just a little snubbed aside on the case, the ‘killer psycho lesbian love triangle’, apparently, was solved by ‘recently out gay Inspector Lewis, who after years of being respectable widower and former happily married family man surprised the entire station by shacking up with his former sergeant, a young man half his age who was once a Catholic priest, a source close to the Inspector told us’,” Lyn quoted.

“Was that it?” demanded James. Lyn nodded.

“I did warn you pet, told you I got pissed off with their homophobia and sexism and said too much.”

“So, I’m frozen, where have you been?” Lyn asked before throwing herself on to her Dad again for another hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you Dad.”

James shook off his shock, like he had said yesterday, tomorrow’s chip wrappers, but it was an unfair distortion. “We’ve been to fetch the tree,” he replied to Lyn, indicating the car.

“A... tree? Are we decorating a tree? We’ve not done that together... since... since...” Lyn stumbled, growing a little tearful.

“I know pet.”

James unpacked the car, then Lyn’s and finally carried a sleeping Molly then a sleeping Emma to the playpen, leaving Lyn and Robbie to their hugging and their tearful reminiscing. He made tea and then patiently waited, checking the newspaper’s website on his phone and snorting in disbelief. No one who didn’t know already could possible know it was he to whom they referred. He wondered idly who possibly it could have been at the nick had talked, but he doubted anyone said anything deliberately. He could have got the information from the bartender at the Trout or the White Horse or even the Turf, or any number of barristas from the many places they drank coffee.

*

Although the back room had become the cosy place to along out for James and Molly the three of them decided to decorate and use the main, larger, front room for Christmas. It took a while, with much laughter and happiness, Lyn and Robbie telling James about family Christmases and James awkwardly at first, and then more comfortably, sharing happy Christmas memories from his childhood.

“It’s okay to love them,” Lyn had said suddenly, giving him a quick hug. “It’s okay to love them and miss them, whatever mistakes they made, whatever they did to you. They’re still your Mum and Dad, aren’t they?”

Robbie had to have a private moment at that, Lyn was so like Val, so sensitive and understanding, and in the twilight, she looked so like Val when he’d first met her he couldn’t breathe.

Angry cries came then, as Molly awoke, followed by the distressed cries of Emma as Molly made it plain that this was her playpen, what was this baby doing here? James and Lyn hurried to the back room.

After they left Robbie quickly cleared away the packaging and switched off the light. When he heard them in the doorway he switched on the fairy lights.

“Ta-da!” he yelled, giving a little theatrical gesture to the tree. “Isn’t it absolutely fabulous!”

“Oh God yes!” said James.

“My God Dad, you sound so gay!”

“Well, I am now pet. Did living with James not give it away?”

“Apparently you can’t be gay until you use that word, in which case I could never possibly be gay. No chance at all, as hell would have to freeze over before I used such a word,” said James with feeling.

“You must be the exception that proves the rule,” Lyn teased.

All the grown-ups pointless chatter went over Molly’s head as she gazed in wonder at the little lights and tiny toys hanging from the: “Tee!” she yelled. “Tee tee tee!!!”

Meanwhile, little Emma saw sparkles and moving shiny objects and glittery lines. She laughed and laughed and laughed.

Molly decided she liked the laughing baby now she wasn’t in her territory. “Tee,” she explained kindly, her voice much more gentle for the first time.

“Yes Molly,” agreed James. “Tree. A special tree to celebrate Jesus’ birthday. A Christmas tree and tomorrow it’ll be Christmas and we’re all going to have a lovely time, aren’t we?”

“A fabulous time,” Robbie corrected solemnly. And Lyn laughed and laughed and hugged her Dad because she remembered then he had always called the tree fabulous when she, Mum and Ken had finished it. He held her back tightly, both daughter and granddaughter. He was going to have a happy family Christmas. He hoped Val did live on somewhere and she could see it all, both her granddaughter and Lyn, and was very happy for them all.

“Tee!” shouted Molly again and everyone laughed joyfully as Lyn and Robbie heard what James heard – a word!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyn Lewis’ FB status: Am very proud of my awesome bisexual Dad, a brilliant detective and a great Dad, and I love my wonderful step-Dad who is not that young nor was ever ordained. Thanks for all your comments but can they stop now?


	18. A Poster and An Invite!

Lyn had enjoyed her Christmas at her Dad’s, and she had grown to love James and Molly in the week she had stayed. She hadn’t been expecting to feel for either so strongly. She loved her father deeply, and was fond of Mark, the idiot, and it was confusing to find out one was an auntie only to become three months later her niece’s big sister! She missed Emma’s father, and it hurt more than anything that expecting the baby he had said he wanted so desperately had been the thing that had pushed him away into the arms of his bloody skinny secretary! Single motherhood was no picnic, and although Emma was a joy, such a placid, easy going happy baby – a far cry from Molly! – She found it tough going. Every morning she left Emma at the hospital crèche was a wrench, every evening Emma was colicky or teething after a day on her feet on the ward was so exhausting. Still, she had her highlights: she and Tim hadn’t worked out as a couple, but he was fast becoming her best friend, and when she received her long anticipated – looked forward to and dreaded! - invitation, it was Tim she asked to be her plus one.

Tim had been at college with Lyn, and had known her parents. Since she had unfriended him when she had dumped him he was the only one of her circle of friends, colleagues and acquaintances who didn’t know her Dad was living with a younger man so he was surprised that Robbie Lewis was having a civil partnership, or rather, marrying another man as Lyn insisted on calling it a wedding. It was actually quite an understatement to describe Tim as surprised, and not only because he remembered Lyn’s Dad as devoted to her Mum and finding out he was bisexual with a toy boy was a bit of a shocker, it was nothing to Lyn inviting him as her escort to the wedding. He grinned widely, hope rising in his heart, as he was still very much in love with Lyn, as he held cream embossed card and read,

 

You are cordially invited to

The Civil Partnership

Of

James Hathaway

And 

Robert Lewis.

 

To be held at 

The Four Pillars Oxford Thames Hotel.

Civil Partnership ceremony to be conducted in

College Barn 

At 11 am.

Wedding Luncheon and Evening Reception to be held in

The Oxford Suite.

Luncheon 2 pm – 5 pm

Reception 7 pm – 1 am.

Rooms available to book for those who wish to stay over.

R.S.V.P

Wedding list/comments/replies please visit www.marthadesigns.co.uk/jamesandrobbiewedding/rsvp  
www.marthadesigns.co.uk/jamesandrobbiewedding/giftsandgiving

For rooms  
www.oxford-thames-hotel.four-pillars.co.uk/

*

CSI Innocent was surprised, and indeed pleased and flattered, to receive an invite to the full day, wedding ceremony, luncheon and reception. She gladly agreed to Lewis putting up notices about the station.

 

DI ROBBIE LEWIS RETIREMENT BASH!

You are invited to Robbie’s retirement party at  
The Oxford Suite, Oxford Thames Four Pillars Hotel,  
Henley Road,   
Sandford-on-Thames.  
7 pm – 1 am.

THIS IS ALSO THE WEDDING RECEPTION OF

DS James Hathaway and DI Robert Lewis

SO

Homophobes and idiots not welcome!

For wedding list/donations to chosen charity instead of gifts visit  
www.marthadesigns.co.uk/jamesandrobbiewedding/giftsandgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you're all invited to :)


	19. Interlude 4: 'I've not gone over to the dark side - the psychedelic side maybe!'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James fines out how he and Martha are brother and sister and makes a decision on his future. He is 22.

Dan’s mother, a nurse, took over as Dan stood, in a daze. James was given water and sugar, followed by sweet tea and scrambled eggs. Following a bath, during which Dan’s mother tumble-dried his wet clothes James was interrogated and questioned. All he would do was reiterate how Martha needed Dan. Dan’s mother, now not distracted by skinny, fainting young men, was hysterical, half-angry with Dan and half-protective. All James could do was listen and make soothing noises.

Four hours after he had arrived he and Dan were on their way back down South in Dan’s beaten up old, red VW Polo coupe, the back seats down, stuffed with all his stuff. While his Mum had ranted at James Dan and his father had packed the car as if he were leaving home for good, not the last half of one ten week semester.

For the first few hours both men were silent, Dan playing music from his teens really loudly and James, after he had dozed a while, staring blankly out of the window. He looked to Dan as if he was in a stupefied funk, but in reality James was contemplating all his options.

“I thought you were her cousin,” Dan said finally, switching off his car stereo.

“So did we,” James replied.

“Uh?”

“Long story. I don’t know it so don’t ask.”

“Why say it then?”

“It has to be done, doesn’t it?”

“Did she send you? She could have phoned. Texted. E-mailed. Written even. Or, I don’t know, just a wild idea – she could have talked to me in the last few weeks!” Dan voice shook a little, and he gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly.

“She should, I told her,” James agreed mildly. “She doesn’t know I came. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“And you hitched all the way?”

“No money.”

Dan switched on the car radio. They listened to the news and then Just A Minute. Dan switched it back off as The Archers began.

“Why on Earth didn’t she tell me in the first place?”

“She thought you’d be angry, blame her, hate...”

“Dump her?”

James shrugged.

“So she ignored me? Pretended that I didn’t exist?”

“Yup.”

“Or even that she wasn’t pregnant, knowing her.”

“She tried. I wouldn’t let her. Stopped her drinking coffee, got her vitamins and things.”

“Thank you. But that’s my job.”

“That’s why I came.”

“Did she really think that if she ignored it all it would go away?”

“Yup.”

“Well, that’s Martha, I suppose.”

There was a pause as Dan coped with a speeding lorry cutting him up on the inside lane.

“Bloody nutter!” he glanced at James and finally said what was on his mind. “But I saw you in bed with her.”

“Not like that!” James protested hotly.

“But you thought you were cousins?”

“Not. Like. That,” insisted James, his cheeks flushing hot and red, his voice rising with stress. “I’m not like that.”

“Are you the one training to be a priest?”

“I was.”

“Not anymore?”

“Nope.”

“Did you change your mind?”

“They asked me to leave.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“But you jumped into bed with your cousin for comfort, yeah? Went wild?”

“Not like that! She was scared about the baby, I was... confused? Unhappy? Okay, scared too. We cuddled up together, like we did as children. Nothing happened. I’m not like that.”

“Like what James?”

“I don’t like girls. Not like that.”

“So you’re gay?”

“I’m not...! It’s difficult to explain.”

“If you don’t like girls then you like boys.”

“I’m celibate.”

“Sure. You were at a Seminary. Not now, though.”

“Still a sin. Still have to be celibate.”

“People sin, James. Look at me and Martha. Sex outside wedlock, right? And me a good Catholic boy. I’d have waited, but Martha... Martha... well, she’s persuasive, isn’t she?"

“What will you do?”

“Do James? Do? Stick by my girlfriend and our baby. Marry her, if she’ll have me. But you know Martha, she goes her own sweet way, head stuffed full of a dozen religions and myths and believes as she likes, picks and chooses.”

“And you don’t like that?”

“I love it! She’s exhilarating! Did they kick you out for being gay?”

“I said it was complicated.”

“Stupid! Priests are celibate. So how can it matter who you fancy if you do nothing.”

“Well, er...”

“Oh look. Services. I need a piss and a strong coffee. Bet you could do with a smoke.”

*

In the harsh glare of the service station Dan stared at James when he wasn’t looking. He had a haunted, pained, thoughtful expression. He looked like Martha, he really did. He had the same eyes, same cheekbones, the same impossible fairy blond hair. He could easily fancy him if he wasn’t already in love with Martha.

“You should grow your hair a bit. It’s a bit harsh, makes you look like you’ve been kicked out of the army, or prison even, not the priesthood.”

“Why would I do that?”

Dan shrugged. “Make the best of yourself? To look good? Dunno.”

The services were crowded. At the next table were a family of two sets of parents, seven children, a screaming baby and a deaf grandmother who kept shouting the same thing over and over again. Behind them a group of young men dressed as builders or labourers of some kind. A coach party of noisy, happy Liverpudlian pensioners milled about, a so did another of Brummie Asian Muslims returning from Hajj, all of the men’s heads shaved, some shivering as they re-adjusted to England’s’ damp, chilly climate.

The noise and crowds pressed on James’ head. He gazed openly now at Dan. The photos Martha had shown him did not do him justice. Hazel eyes, square jaw and dark, curly hair gelled upwards in an upstanding quiff. His broad shoulders carried well the Rugby shirt and tartan quilted over-shirt. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and his chin was covered with the darkest of shadows, almost but not quite yet a beard. James tried to image a fusion of Dan’s ruggedly handsome and Martha’s delicate, beautiful features. Would it be a boy or a girl? Dark or fair?

“Have you finished your coffee?” Dan asked, unfazed by James’ staring. “Shall we go?”

*

Martha flung open the door to the ground floor flat. “James! Where have you been? I’ve been so worried!” she paused as saw a figure behind James, in the shadows. “D-Dan?”

“Hello Martha love,” Dan sad awkwardly, shyly, looking at his feet.

“Dan?”

“Martha?” he stepped forward and put a hand on her belly.

“You know?”

“James told me.”

“Is that where’s you’ve been?” Jon asked over the top of his daughter’s head.

“You don’t mind?” Martha said at the same time.

“Mind? Mind our baby! Are you crazy?” Dan demanded as James nodded mutely at his uncle... at his father, maybe?

Martha and Dan fell desperately into each other’s arms on the doorstep as Jon pushed past them. “Come on James, these two babies need some space. I’ll stand you a pint. And try to explain.”

“Yes. You do owe me an explanation,” agreed James forcefully, then adding, “and I’m starved.”

“I’ll get you some chips. Or a pie. Whatever you fancy. Come on Jamie baby.”

*

Once they were sat in a dark corner of a quiet pub, pints and food in front of them, Jon looked embarrassed. 

“Where do I start?” he asked awkwardly.

“I want to know who betrayed whom? Who if the father? Which mother cheated? I’m guessing Chrissie and Dad - Joe because – no offence Uncle Jon, but Auntie Chrissie was a wild hippie and my Dad’s a total bastard but my Mum is so besotted – no obsessed! – with Dad. And you’re still in love with Chrissie, aren’t you? You’ve been alone for nearly ten years without ever dating, haven’t you?”

Jon looked stricken for a moment and James began to regret his words. Whatever had happened it was over twenty-two years ago, although yes, he supposed he did have a right to be angry. He was about to apologise when Jon took a deep breath and said, “No-one cheated on anyone.”

Now James gave into his bubbling anger and he snapped, “No! That’s just crazy! I know you guys were together for years before I was born, and so were Mum and Dad!”

“Okay James, baby, I’m going to tell you a story, okay? About how it all came about. But first, to put your mind at rest, let me tell you...” Jon started to laugh nervously, and then more than a little hysterically.

James glared angrily. This wasn’t funny form where he was sat. Jon caught the angry glean in James’ eye and calmed down enough to say,

“I can’t say it without sounding like Darth Vader. Believe me, I’m trying...”

James lips twitched in an upwards curve. “Don’t chop off my hand," he said, and then smirked. His Dad wasn’t his Dad. That bastard was nothing to do with him. But how? Jon said no one had cheated, but what did that mean?

“I’ll try to explain. And despite what Grandma and the family think, I’ve not gone over to the dark side – the psychedelic side maybe.” Jon grinned. “Let me explain baby.”

*

Rose and Joe had married young and moved to the Crevecoeur Hall Estate where, at first, Joe was assistant Games Keeper. Rose’s sister worked up at the house, and Rose began part-time in the kitchens. Meanwhile Chrissie and Jon had had enough of everything: family hypocrisy, Church, school, society itself. They ran away a few weeks before they were due to take their ‘A’ Levels and go to university. They both would have had been the first in their families. They ran away with an original 1960s hippie, staying with him in his caravan until through hard work fruit picking throughout the summer plus busking and labouring when they could find it, they bought an old, beaten up VW Camper Van and became independent.

After a couple of years on the road, Chrissie and Jon arrived with a group of old hippy and new punk misfits and dropouts to camp on the edges of the Crevecoeur Hall Estate. It was too early for these people to be labelled anything but layabouts and dropouts and weirdoes, the peace camps that gave birth to the Peace Convoy and the later phrase of New Age Travellers were still four years away.

After the first night the Estate Manager, Games Keeper and their underlings arrived with dogs and guns, demanding that these good-for-nothing bunch of gypoes, hippies and weirdoes moved on.

Several of the travellers stood facing the men, Jon in the front, speaking calmly to them, refusing to be intimidated. In every town and city they had ever stayed in Jon had spent hours in the local libraries, devouring among others, law books, and he quoted politely and nicely chapter and verse regarding their rights. He knew it would take months for a court order to be obtained, by which time they would be long gone.

The Estate Manager and Games Keeper conferred, the other men milling about, waiting, looking more bored and cold than menacing. Jon noticed one man, tall and blond, keeping his eyes down, stooped and shuffling his feet on wet leaves and moss, apart from the others, a gun crooked in one arm, three gun dogs on leads sat by him, looking around, tails waving merrily, at least some were happy, thought Jon, smiling at the dogs.

Jon felt uncomfortable though, he recognised the body language. He stared and stared until the young man looked up at him and met his gaze. It was his older brother. Jon chose not to say anything; he didn’t want to compromise Joe or his career.

It was decided to seek His Lordship’s advice regarding the law. They left, and as they did, Joe trailed behind. As he passed Jon he muttered which was his cottage and invited them over. Chrissie and Jon visited that evening.

For a few weeks everything was fine. The brothers were glad to see each other; their girlfriend and wife became great friends. Chrissie and several of the other women from the camp would go around in the daytime to use the bath and the washing machine. Rose seemed happy with the female companionship.

Then Joe persuaded Jon to allow him to invite their parents, Chrissie’s too, to Sunday lunch. It went badly. Chrissie’s parents refused to come, Jon and Joe’s came, but demanded Jon come back, and when he refused and dared argue theology and question his Mum’s faith and his upbringing, she told him he was no longer his son. She then turned her bile on Rose. He and Chrissie soon realised that this was her normal behaviour towards Rose – attack her for not being born Catholic, for not understanding what she had converting into, which they knew to be unfair as Rose had met Joe at church after she had converted, she had done it for love of God not love of Joe, and worst of all, Jon’s mother accused Rose of using contraceptives. They had, after all, been married over three years and there were still no babies. Rose was close to tears and Joe came to her defence, but she just accused Rose of deceiving her husband. Things grew more and more unpleasant when Jon and Chrissie felt obliged to speak and his mother turned on them again. Finally Joe demanded his parents leave, defending both wife and brother.

After they left, Rose burst into tears and Jon and Chrissie weren’t far behind. Joe hugged his younger brother tightly before taking his wife upstairs. Once Chrissie had composed herself she went upstairs to talk to Rose while Joe and Jon attacked the beer.

Later that night, sat outside their van around the fire Chrissie told Jon that Rose had been to the doctors and had all the tests possible and she was fine, it wasn’t her. The problem was probably with Joe, but he refused to acknowledge it, see a doctor to see if he could be helped.

The next night Rose and her friends, Tracey and Mary, sat in front of him. Mary built a spliff, Tracey made him tea and Chrissie handed him a plate of his favourite butterbean and mushroom stew with homemade bread from Rose.

Tracey explained, over a couple of pots of tea and a couple of spliffs, how they had gone over to Rose’s cottage to use the washing machine and while they were they had talked through Rose’s problem. Rose was desperate to have a baby, not to please her mother-in-law, but because she wanted one. Every woman had a right to be a mother, didn’t she?

Mary explained that their children, Tom and Lucy, who were days apart in age, shared the same father. He was a gay friend and he had provided the sperm – not sex or anything. He had... um, provided the semen which the girls had put into a turkey baster and then impregnated each other with. Did that sound like a good idea?

Rose was so lovely, added Chrissie, and so unhappy. Jon looked so much like his elder brother, didn’t he? Hadn’t he noticed that? How they might even be twins?

Jon hadn’t liked the way this conversation was going.

Of course, Chrissie went on, Joe must never know. “And we’ll be gone soon. You’ll be doing your brother a favour, that’s all; it’ll be his child, really. And of course,” Chrissie had added seductively, “I’ll help you with the... um production,” she giggled.

Stoned, full of favourite food, hot tea and warm bread, sitting in a clearing of a beautiful beech wood, a warm fire and a blanket around his shoulders, happy and warm and contented, despite the frost on the ground, Jon found himself agreeing. 

They waited for Rose’s cycle to become at the right time, as it were. They did it for three days in a row, to be sure. Chrissie and Jon in the spare bedroom, to then hand Tracey and Mary the necessary. They then took it to Rose it the bedroom. Rose then had to make sure she and Joe had a... romantic, fun night for those three nights.

Two days after that, his Lordship arrived with his men, guns, dogs and Land Rovers and moved them on. The police looked the other way as several windows were smashed and belongings strewn across the clearing and the hippies not allowed to pick them up. So, forced to leave, Jon never knew if their little ‘experiment’ had been successful, but he knew that it had got him and Chrissie thinking. It took more than a year for them before Chrissie fell with Martha; so all in all, they doubted that Rose had got pregnant. They travelled to Wales after that, then the West Country, and a few weeks after Martha’s birth, they left the country for five or so years.

*

Jon looked up, he’d been staring into his beer glass the whole time he’d related the story, “you were nearly eight, something like that, the first time I saw you,” he said. “Do you remember? At our wedding?”

James frowned, he’d been trying and failing to take on all he had been told; shocked and confused and touched in equal measure, he was grateful for a distraction.

“Wasn’t it in Wantage? The Town Hall and then the back room of a pub?”

“Yeah, a mate ran that pub. We had a wild time, friends from different bands and that played music. Everyone did something. Chrissie’s best friend Suze made the cake.”

“Folk,” said James. “And punk. You wore a top hat. Yeah, I remember, black frock coat and top hat over a silk purple shirt and striped trousers. You had your hair in a plait and had eyeliner. Chrissie wore this purple thing, too, tight bodice, sort of fringes or frills and the end of her skirts – they were layered up, weren’t they? And you could see her purple Doc Martins. Even her hair was purple. It wasn’t dreaded, then, was it? All loose and wild and purple. I remember thinking I’d never, ever seen anyone dressed like either of you and it was amazing. Like something from a fantasy book or fairy tale. I loved it. I was what, seven?”

“Eight, I think.”

“Chrissie walked down the aisle with a stick.”

“Yes, yes she did. She was already... sick. We knew then, she was going to... you know, but we kept it a secret, how serious it was. It was why we married. The way the law was back then, when she... went... they couldn’t have taken Martha into care if we weren’t married.”

“That’s crazy! Stupid! You’re her Dad and...”

“It’s alright baby. S’sh. I don’t think the law’s like that now. I remember that day for you as much as for me and Chrissie. As we walked back down the aisle together, man and wife, which, you know, didn’t feel a whole lot different, you know? I loved her before and after, now she had my name made no difference. Made a difference to the family, to the stuck up snooty cows at the school Martha had started, but...me? I loved her the same. Anyway, as we walked down she whispered to me, ‘that must be him. We gave them a son. We did good, don’t you think?’”

*

Jon, in all honesty, had forgotten what he’d agreed to all those years ago. After all, what had he done apart from get a bit dirty with Chrissie in his brother’s back bedroom for three days in a row? He’d not been a party to anything that had followed. But now Chrissie had pointed the boy out, he couldn’t keep his eyes off him. He was tall for his age, skinny as a rake, with a solemn, serious expression in an angelic face – his eyes were like Martha’s, as was the bone structure of his pretty face. And he was pretty, like Martha. It scared him, how alike they were.

However, the only family that were there were Rose and Joe, and a sister of Chrissie’s, the rest of the family had either refused or the couple had already been so hurt they didn’t bother sending the invites. The family had been ignoring the runaways since their return to Oxfordshire. There had been no fatted calf for the prodigals, and nor would they have wanted one, vegans as they were.

When Joe slapped him on the back and said heartily, “You can tell they’re cousins, eh?” and nodded drunkenly towards where Martha and some children of their friends were trying to encourage James from under the table where he had made his den and onto the dance floor to pogo with them to Spike’s crazy guitar rhythms. Little James was having none of it. Jon had breathed a sigh of relief at his brother’s obvious lack of suspicion but almost thumped him as if they were still eight when Joe added, “Stuck up little shit, my boy.”

*

“You spent all night sat under a table, reading. Even Martha got bored and left you alone eventually.”

James smiled, “Actually, I did venture out occasionally to replenish my plate. I think I got addicted to veggie sausages and tofu satay that night. Although I don’t think I ate tofu before, or ever again, to be honest.” 

“Well, you must have been undercover, I don’t remember you other than under that table all afternoon and evening. And I watched you, James, you looked so sad and solemn, as if you had the world on your small little shoulders. I should have asked you if you were okay. I should have...”

“I wouldn’t have told you, you know. And I made damn sure no one was looking when I snuck out. Sneaked out? Whichever. I didn’t want a fuss. Drunks fuss over cute kids at weddings. I hated all that.”

“You’d have probably made an excellent spy, then James, coz I was watching you, couldn’t take my eyes off you. What will you do, now you’ve left the Seminary? Have you decided yet?"

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I’m going to join the police force.”

“The what? The police? You?! You’re going to be a policeman?”

“Yes.”

“You!”

“Yes,” James said firmly, in a definite tone that brooked no further argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School will be back, and with it a whole lot of meetings and fights regarding my daughter's support. Plus there will be more hospital testing. It maybe some while before the ultimate chapter is posted.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, all these in the Blue Autumn Love universe are made up for a pre teen autistic girl, which is why they are heavy on the swearing and detail, as well as the fluff and the make-up!


End file.
